The Hardest Journey
by JanuaryFriend
Summary: AU, 1944 China: Guerilla warrior Zhu Tenten and Imperial Japanese Army soldier Hyuga Neji meet on the battlefield. One is taken prisoner. Can these two broken foes find peace in the midst of a war that pits their very cultures against one another?
1. Like Rain After a Drought

_Naruto _© Masashi Kishimoto.

_Author's notes: This story is set during the second Sino-Japanese war, part of WWII. It was inspired in part by the novels of Pearl S. Buck, and the recent Turner Classic Movies Asian film festival. The idea, however, is my own._

_I am having to do quite a bit of research for this, and while I hope to keep it historically accurate, that may not happen. I apologize for any mistakes made and I truly hope I do not offend anyone. The views in this story are only those that were prevalent during the time, and are not my own._

**The Hardest Journey**

They make camp at dusk, the war-hardened leader of the band choosing a relatively flat spot between three of the low rolling hills that characterize this southern country. A low moan sets up from the battle weary guerillas, for the ground here is soggy and most certainly mosquito filled, but their commander remains firm. The protection offered by the surrounding high land far outweighs the troops' discomfort, or the risk of malaria. Orders are given, sentries are posted, and cold rations are quickly distributed.

Zhu Tenten is the group's only female, save for old Mei, the commander's wife who does the cooking during those scant few nights when fires are allowed. Desperate for some privacy, the young woman wanders a short distance away from the general mass and picks a fairly dry spot behind some scraggly bushes on which to spend the night. Although she longs to fall to the spongy earth and sleep like some of her compatriots, she is by nature an orderly soul, and begins to clear the area for her scant bedding.

A sharp stick, unseen in the fading light, jabs up through the too-thin sole of her boot and into the soft flesh of her right foot. She muffles the cry and blinks back the tears which threaten to spill from her brown eyes, unwilling to appear weak in front of anyone who might still be watching. A number of the men already feel she should not be here, that women are too frail to endure these hardships. They would like nothing more than to send her away, or leave her by the roadside. She will not give them the satisfaction of doing so.

Kicking the injured appendage out in front of her, Tenten plops down onto the ground, heedless of the damp dirt staining her plain, homespun pants. The girl gingerly pulls off the worn boot, wincing as its removal knocks the thin stick embedded like a stake into her foot. Gripping the sharp twig between her strong fingers, she tugs quickly and is rewarded when the whole thing slides out, leaving no splinters behind.

A wave of intense pain washes over Tenten, momentarily robbing her of the ability to think. She breathes deeply through her nose, one breath at a time, and after a while the agony lessens, her mind clearing. It is then that the young woman realizes she has a dilemma; her poor foot is bleeding, the wound dirty and in danger of becoming infected. She has no bandages and, after so long without being re-supplied, it is unlikely that any of her comrades can or will accommodate her. She will have to improvise.

_What to use? What to use?_

After a long moment of indecision, she takes her tattered woolen blanket and unwinds it from about her shoulders. The nights down here are warm, and days almost unbearably hot, so she will no longer need it for survival. Not that the ragged garment- full of holes and faded to an indescribable color- would offer much protection from the elements anyway. Still, the thing has a certain sentimental value, having made it all the way from Nanking with her. With the exception of her knife, it is the last element left of her life from… before…

Her right foot throbs in time with her heartbeat, and this strange and uncomfortable pulsation dispels her tarnished remembrances and reminds her of the need to be practical. Taking her small blade from the cracked leather sheath hidden at her waist, Tenten begins to cut the dingy coverlet into long strips, each one about an inch wide. Many years of working with the sharp tool have made her dextrous, and she soon has a good pile of makeshift bandages lying in her lap. Now she can dress the wound properly.

Taking her battered metal canteen from her shoulders, she unscrews the top and empties most of its contents onto her foot. The cool water dribbles over the injury, cleaning and soothing the torn skin. After using the rest of the precious liquid to wash the dirty dressings, Tenten squeezes the water from the strips and begins to wrap them methodically around her punctured appendage, knotting them wherever it is necessary and all the while hoping that she will still be able to march in the morning.

Half of her ersatz bandages have been used when a new worry occurs to Tenten: what if her foot should swell during the night, and in the morning she finds herself unable to put her boots on? Without the minor shielding offered by the footwear, she will be unable to keep up with her companions, and they will leave her behind, abandoning her to fate and the ever advancing Imperial Japanese Army. The thought is so frightening that the girl grits her teeth and shoves the aching foot back into her worn out shoe.

To her momentary delight- and one of the few she has had in a long time- the extra space in the oversized shoes is now taken up by the new dressings. Furthermore, the padding eases the rubbing upon her numerous blisters, and should take some of the shock from her steps when walking. Pulling the left foot from its far too-large prison, she begins to wrap it also.

_Thank goodness Sun Yat-sen abolished foot binding._

The thought flashes happily through her head, darting about like a swallow before nesting permanently and conjuring up one patinated image: the recollection of her honored paternal grandmother tottering around on tiny, eternally deformed feet brings a fresh surge of grief to Tenten's heart. More memories, more than a decade old and half-forgotten, follow. They pile one on top of another, the good and the bad mixing in a kaleidoscopic whirl and threatening to overwhelm her. She struggles with them for a long while.

The sun sinks away into the sky's western quadrant, falling slowly behind the high verdant mountains and throwing the guerilla's bivouac into indigo shadows. The greatly-maligned mosquitoes begin swarming then, their high-pitched whines mixing with the deeper hum of the cicadas, and the gentle rushing of a stream can barely be heard to the east. The beautiful scene and the peaceful sounds, combined with the quiet speech of the men somewhere behind her, act as a soothing balm to the young woman's tortured soul.

Tenten allows her benumbed mind to drift as her deft hands continue their task, and in this state of near-meditation a number of questions arise: Where, exactly, is their group camped? How many years has it been since she left home and Nanking? What has become of the all the people she loves? When, if ever, will this cruel war be over? All of the queries are doomed to prove unanswerable, but the girl continues to pour over them anyway, even after her left foot is completely wrapped and returned to its shoe.

Time passes and the sun sets, vanishing over the undulating horizon with one final defiant blaze of light. With its last gleaming, a realization hits Tenten, and this new awareness is so sudden and powerful that she feels her heart turn over painfully inside her chest. The hot, traitorous tears well up again, brought to being because another long day has been wasted,and one more chance to find her war torn family has been lost. Here in this small encampment, surrounded by forty men and one odd woman, she is utterly alone and uncared for.

_Oh, Uncle Gai! _

_Cousin Lee, where are you?_

A man stumbles out of the darkness to stand next to her shrub, one big hand reaching inside his filthy pants to fumble with his genitals. Realizing that he intends to relieve himself right over her bed, a horrified Tenten dashes the remaining tears away and stands up, knife clutched surreptitiously in one hand. Although the prospects of this conversation leave her feeling anything but, the teenager forces her voice to sound loud and confident. "Excuse me, but you need to go do that somewhere else."

The man, a provincial farmer turned fighter named Deng, blinks his black eyes several times and squints at her in the dim lighting. "What're you doing way out here, girlie? It's not safe." He wobbles unsteadily on his feet, obviously not quite awake. Despite that handicap, Deng is a large man, capable of incredible power. Tenten feels slightly threatened, and she tightens her hand on her knife. Deng yawns and lets go of himself, but does not notice the weapon. "Little girls like you should be in bed by now."

"This _is _my bed," Tenten stresses, gesturing impatiently to the plain ground at her feet. "And I would like to go to sleep now, if you don't mind."

"Pipe down!" An unseen someone calls out from the relaxing group behind the two, sounding both sleepy and irritated. A few more voices take offense at this first, adding to the clamor, and then old Mei wakes with a frightened shout and asks if the fearful Japanese are upon them. Her husband orders everyone to shut up, his ancient voice carrying surprisingly well in the night air, but it is a long moment before the world is quiet once more, with only the usual cacophony of insect noises in the background.

Deng snorts and waves his hand at her vaguely before shuffling on by, heading in the general direction of the sound of the river. Tenten heaves a long sigh of relief, knowing she has once again escaped the dangers posed by her male comrades. The tension slowly ebbs from her body, leaving only weariness in its place. She flops back down against the softness of the earth and pulls a face, hoping that Deng does not urinate in the nearby body of water. She will have to fill her empty canteen in the morning.

The knife goes back into its scratched leather sheath, within easy reach and safely concealed beneath her long-sleeved shirt. Tenten unwinds her brown hair from its traditional two chignons, letting it cascade in waves down her back. The thick mass hangs to her shoulder blades and is perhaps her only luxury now; in preparation for sleep, she quickly plaits it into two braids. After tying them off with strings, poor replacements for the silk ribbons she once owned, the girl lays down on her side and pillows her head upon her arms.

Deng shambles past her again, practically sleepwalking. Tenten watches him go, then glances with chocolate eyes up toward the heavens. It is an astonishingly clear night, myriad twinkling stars stretched across the blackness of sky. One or two of these dots move, and in the back of her mind the young woman knows that these are airplanes, perhaps even enemy scouts. Still, the night is dark, lit only by a sickle moon, and here in this little valley they are safe from view. There is no need to sound the alarm.

As her eyelids droop closed, Tenten wishes that the planes could be those of the Americans, come to drive the hated Japanese from her beautiful, shattered country.

* * *

Tenten is awakened sometime after midnight by the deepest feeling of unease. Her heart is beating rapidly, her throat is dry, and her very hair feels as though it is standing on end. Something is wrong. Around her, the warm night is still and silent, much the same as before she fell asleep, although the stars have shifted in the sky. As far as she can tell, nothing else is different, and yet the night has become somehow menacing. She lies there, motionless and half hidden under her sparse bush, trying to ascertain the cause.

Tenten is just about to write the entire incident off as her imagination when the sound of hurried footsteps reaches her ears, and a great form rears up out of the inky blackness. It dissolves quickly into three moving figures, the one in the center struggling vainly against two others. As she watches, the person on the left stumbles back, nearly stepping on her where she lies. "Hey, watch it!" she calls angrily, mistaking this for just another alcohol-induced dispute between men who are every bit as traumatized as she is.

"Sorry," mumbles the young man now squatting next to her, the one who nearly stepped _on_ her. "This guy's giving us a little trouble." He throws her a quick grin that reminds her of her vanished cousin Lee, all shinning teeth and irrepressible joy, but she has no time to dwell on the impression. Tenten's dark eyes alight upon his arm, hanging by his side at a most unnatural angle, and the girl suddenly comprehends that this incident may be much more than the simple male disagreement she had thought it was.

That realization hits home when a voice in front of her swears quietly in Japanese. Tenten leaps to her feet, regardless of her tired body's protestations, her right hand flying instinctively for her knife. Bringing the weapon to bear, she strains her eyes toward the two men still fighting, trying to figure out which of them is her enemy. The young man next to her reaches out with his good arm, catching hold of her shaky hand. Terrified, it takes everything she has to keep from accidentally gutting him.

"It's alright," her comrade tells her, and his voice sounds rather thoughtful. "I won't let him hurt you." Tenten is about to reply that she cannot imagine him keeping her safe with a broken arm. She nearly snaps and tells him that there is no need for him to be concerned; she has killed men before, after all, and stabbing another will not cause her any more psychological damage. But then he points to the fight and says, "Don't worry, Ying's taking care of him. Look, he almost has him tied up now."

Peering through the gloom, Tenten can just make out a rope holding both of the Japanese man's wrists together, preventing him from swinging his arms in any way but a rough clubbing motion. Another cord has been thrown around his shoulders, and it is this one that Ying is attempting to tighten. As she watches, the enemy grabs a hold of Ying's shirt and drops into a fast spin, intending to fling the Chinese man away. When he turns toward her in the midst of his rotation, Tenten finally gets a good look at his face, and her world stops.

_Oh, gods…_

Tenten knows this man, although she never thought she would see him again. Certainly she had hoped never to see him again, not under these circumstances. To protect herself, and him, she should keep quiet. She ought to pretend she does not recognize him. But she is so shaken that she cannot, and his name falls from her lips like rain dropping from the sky. "Hizashi?"

The Japanese soldier, having flung Ying away, had been preparing to make a run for freedom. At the sound of Tenten's tremulous voice, however, he freezes in place before turning slowly to face her. Strange white eyes glint silver in the moonlight, and something in them suggests a pain every bit as fierce and acute as the young woman's own. His voice, when it comes, seems impossibly loud and more than a little desperate in the sudden silence of the night. In halting, broken Mandarin, he asks, "You know my father?"

_To be continued…_


	2. Fighting a Wolf with a Flex Stalk

_Naruto_© Masashi Kishimoto.

_Author's notes: Thanks so much for the reviews! You all are wonderful, and I hope I can live up to any expectations. _

_Please note the rating, as later chapters will contain some very mature content. At this point, I don't know how graphic I'll be, but it will be dark even in passing._

**The Hardest Journey**

The sun was rising over the eastern hills in the most amazing display, slowly changing the color of the clear sky from the night's cobalt to the day's pale blue. Rays touch upon the clouds still clinging in the low valleys, and they reflect the palest pink hue before burning away entirely, leaving in their wake a lush green panorama. Light glints over the hundreds of small lakes and rivers that dot the landscape, creating a sparkling scene as far as the eye can see. It is a sight more beautiful than any painting by even the greatest of artists, and yet it is lost upon poor Tenten.

The young woman can be seen sitting upon the hard ground at the side of the path, leaning back against the old wooden supply cart. Her head is cradled between two of the wheel spokes, her thick brown hair- once again bundled up- acting as a pillow. Dark eyes are closed against the ever lightening day as her tired mind tries to catch up on lost sleep. The smell of breakfast cooking in the new camp, combined with the non-stop throbbing pain of her foot, are conspiring against her. Her stomach growls loudly, jolting her from her light doze, and Tenten frowns.

Will she ever feel truly rested again?

Footsteps alert her to another presence, and she opens her chocolate eyes just in time to see the young man with the broken arm come to a stop before her. In daylight, he looks much the worse for wear. Although the arm is now set and bundled into a sling made from his shirtsleeves, there are other wounds; a black eye, a split lip, and, when he smiles, a missing tooth towards the back. Amazingly, he seems to be in even less pain than she is, and when he catches her looking he merely tips his head toward the timber cart behind her. "That Jap did a number on me."

Tenten nods, recalling what she had seen of the last night's bloody battle. "Is Ying okay?" Ying, the other sentry who had helped to catch their enemy, had taken a pretty bad fall. Well, a bad throw, if one wanted to be technical. Still, while Tenten was unintentionally distracting the soldier, Ying had climbed back onto his feet and bashed him over the head with a rock, thus ending the encounter. The unconscious Japanese man had been bound up and tossed into the back of their cart amid the dwindling supplies. They would be interrogating him later.

"Ying's fine, just a little bruised. Here, take this." The young man hands her a rough wooden bowl filled to the brim with something pale, mushy and steaming. Tenten accepts it gratefully, murmuring her thanks. A moment later, she truly glances at it, and is hard pressed to hide her displeasure. Millet? They are once again resorting to consuming poor cereal? Remembering the plump and sticky rice of her childhood, she feels her throat close up. Back then, when she was young and her country free, the Zhu family would not have even fed this to their horses.

Her comrade must notice her disappointment, for he gives a discomforted little half-shrug and looks apologetic. "Sorry, but we're running low on rations again. Word has it we'll be sending someone to Kaili to see about getting some real food. In the meantime though, you should eat." He pauses and flexes his good arm, seeming concerned about its mobility, and the rope-like muscles in the tanned limb stand out tautly. Thus reassured by its condition, the teenaged guerilla adds, "You need to keep up your strength."

That much is true. After the capture of the Japanese soldier- presumed to have been on a scouting mission- their old leader had ordered them to break camp and fall back to the safety of the mountains. They had moved out long before dawn, marching uphill all the while. Due to her injured foot, Tenten had fallen steadily behind and had finally been assigned the exhausting task of pulling the supply cart at the rear of the train. More than once today, the young woman had angrily cursed the name of the traitor who had stolen their only horse when he deserted a month ago.

Tenten takes a determined mouthful of the unsalted porridge, doing her best to swallow the lumpy mass without gagging. Once the first warm bite goes down, however, she realizes how hungry she really is and begins to drain the bowl. It is only after the faintest tingling begins inside her mouth, signaling that she may be burning it, that she pauses. While waiting for the rest of the millet to cool, she tries to make conversation with her new friend. It suddenly dawns on her that they have not even introduced themselves. "What's your name?"

The young man sketches an awkward bow, unable to place his hands together in the proper form. Seated upon the hard ground, with a warm bowl clutched between her fingers, Tenten's own greeting is little better. Still, there is a certain respect present in the gestures, along with an informal understanding, and both adolescents are sastisfied with the attempt. "Li Hao. I'm Li Deng's younger brother. My family were farmers to the north and east of here, but the Japanese burned us out two years ago. And you?"

Hao's frankness, his openness, startles Tenten. She had expected him to give his name, not life's story, and now she fears that he expects the same from her. The last few years of her existence have been a hell she has not yet come to terms with, a nightmare from which she has not awoken. She will not dredge up the past, nor open the painful wounds by speaking about them. After an interminable pause, during which she senses his eagerness, she finally speaks, telling the truth. "I'm Zhu Tenten, and I was born in the north. I don't really want to talk about it. How I came to be here, I mean."

To her great relief, Hao does not take her rebuff personally. He smiles at her and bows once more, and she decides in that moment that he is very much like her cousin Lee. It is a happy thought, the first one she has had in sometime. "Pleased to meet you, Zhu Tenten. I'd love to stay and talk, but I'm going to attend a meeting. Our illustrious leader is trying to decide what to do about the barbarian in the cart. You'll make sure he doesn't get away, right? And please finish your breakfast."

As Hao turns and heads back up the rocky path toward the main group, Tenten finds it in her heart to give a little wave. Perhaps she is no longer alone.

* * *

Hyuga Neji wakes to a pounding headache. The sun shines down upon him from high in the sky, bright and blazing and just a little past its zenith. He tries to pull his hands up to shade his oddly-colored eyes, only to find that they have been bound together and tied to his ankles with a thick, coarse rope. Turning gracelessly over, he buries his face into the rough hewn timbers of whatever it is he is lying upon. The neon streaks and spots gradually fade from his vision, leaving his mind as his only cloudy organ.

Where exactly is he? Lifting his head slowly and shaking the loose hair from his handsome face, he glances around and takes note of his surroundings. He is lying in a flat-bedded cart of some sort, wedged uncomfortably between two metal drums that have long been absorbing the heat of the day. Towards the back of the craft a few shabby blankets are piled high, all of them dirty and smelling of mold. Under the dingy coverlets is a large wooden box with a heavy and heavily rusted padlock. A weapons cache?

Curious, Neji begins to inch his way toward the crate, worming his way forward and feeling the splinters dig into his body. The cart shakes and gives a groan and he pauses, worried that it might be about to roll away or rot out from underneath him. When it holds, he begins to slide forward again, trying his best to balance his weight better and keep the noise to a minimum. It does not work; by the time he reaches the box, a head bobs into view, wearing two distinctive chignons. A plain but curious face, pretty in its own way, peers over the side.

Neji recognizes her immediately, his fuzzy mind suddenly sharpening. The young woman is the same from last night- or whenever, he is no longer certain of the time- the one who had seen him in the darkness and mistakenly called him by his father's name. How could this Chinese girl, certainly no older than himself, know of his long missing parent? Could she have just guessed the name? Had he perhaps misheard her? Determined to find out the truth, he asks again, struggling against his dry mouth and swollen tongue.

At the sound of his voice, she cocks her head to the side and stares with chocolate eyes. Neji cannot help but think she looks rather stupid, almost like a blank cow, gazing at him as though he were a strange zoological specimen and not someone talking to her. As the seconds tick by without any response, the young man feels himself growing ever more frustrated, to the point where he wishes he were unbound, merely so he could hit something. Why, he asks himself, does she not answer him? Especially when he was speaking perfect Tokyo-style Japanese?

"I don't know what you said."

The quiet, puzzled-sounding foreign words, punctuated by a slight shaking of the brunette head, filter into his aching brain slowly. Neji lowers his brow and curses himself for a fool at this realization; of course the girl does not understand the Japanese language! Why should she, living in this wild southern territory that has yet to be subdued? The teenaged soldier tries to converse with her once more, this time using the Mandarin dialect which she herself had spoken. Struggling for the words, he manages, "How do you know my father?"

* * *

The words are guttural, the pronunciation awful. The grammar is nothing to be proud of either, but the desperate message- spoken in her own native tongue which is not widely used this far south- is crystal clear. This strange prisoner, whose greatest worry should be escaping their band alive, wants only to know about his parent. A tender memory of the man in question rises to the surface of Tenten's astonished mind, but she shoves it away, hides it back under the painful multitude of others. She owes _that _man, Hyuga Hizashi. Not this one.

Tenten allows her chocolate eyes to rove dispassionately over the supine captive before her. In daylight, it becomes obvious that he is much younger than she had previously believed. Perhaps even her own age. Tall for his own people, although a little short for hers, she thinks they would be nearly the same height standing face to face. Peering unabashedly at his khaki uniformed body, noting the way the clothing fits, she decides that he is undoubtedly the better fed one. His skin, although chaffed by its bindings and slightly sunburned, is of a paler complexion than her own. Her honored mother had had such skin…

_Mama… _

_No, don't think about it. There was nothing you could have done._

She resumes her scrutinizing. The soldier's face is much the same as his father's, but upon closer inspection Tenten becomes aware of a few key differences. To begin with, the fine ebony hair framing the face is much longer than Hizashi's, flowing down almost to mid-back. Certainly longer than regulations would allow, and Tenten wonders how he has managed to keep from cutting it. Cheekbones are not as pronounced, and that- combined with youth- gives him a less haggard appearance than his father's. Despite this, something about his visage just seems callous.

_You're just like the rest of your people. _

_Unfeeling, uneducated thugs. _

Tenten's dark, doe eyes meet his pearly ones, and it takes all the willpower she has to keep from looking away. Hizashi's pupil-less white orbs had carried a haunted look, one that she imagines she herself now wears, whereas this young man's seem naturally condescending, more defiant than beaten. The manner in which he watches her is completely at odds with his position; prisoners of war, tied up and lying vulnerable in the bottom of an old cart, are not supposed to gaze up at their captors in the same way that great lords stare down the hired help.

Especially when they want something.

Tenten is not by nature a violent or heated person, but years of war and its abuses have pushed her to the breaking point. Anger boils up and it blots out everything, including the memory of the night before when this young man had turned to her and so desperately asked for news of his father. Any sympathy she might have felt, any inclination to help him based upon that common ground of loss, is gone in an instant. All that is left in its place is the hate her people feel for his, and the burning desire to make him suffer even one iota of what she has.

"Please? My father?" he asks again, but there is no pleading in his tone, and to her sensitive ears it sounds more like an elitist order than a question. Tenten abruptly realizes that he thinks of her as less than human, that all of _them_ think of her and her people that way, and that thought is the one that sends her over the edge. Her hand comes up, still clutching the bowl from her interrupted lunch- more millet, just reheated from before- and she brings it down upon his dark head so hard that the wood cracks.

He crumples without a sound.

"You aren't half the man your father was."

_To be continued..._


	3. When Drinking Water, Remember the Spring

_Naruto ©_ Masashi Kishimoto.

_Author's notes: Here's where most of the research I'm doing comes in. Any mistakes with language or history are my own. And I apologize for the original character, but he is necessary to the story. Any feedback would be lovely. Thanks!_

**The Hardest Journey **

"Hey, wake up."

The voice, so close to her ear, jolts the exhausted Tenten from her slumber. Startled, she automatically pulls her knife from its hideout and leaps upward into a kneeling position, hands held defensively in front of her body. Her chest heaves, drawing deep and rapid breaths, and her heart thumps erratically inside of it. Wide brown eyes, their pupils shrunken to frightened pinpricks, survey the area. They alight briefly upon the figure of Li Hao before traveling on, scanning every possible hiding spot. Finding no other threats, she sags back to the ground. "I'm sorry."

The young man, having jumped back at her rather sudden and violent awakening, takes a tentative step closer. His good arm is held up in a position of surrender, palm visible, a gesture meant to reassure her of his peaceful intentions. It does, but only slightly; although Tenten likes him, but she still does not know him that well, and finds it difficult to drop her guard. "Whoa, I thought you were going to skewer me or something. Were you having a nightmare? You looked-" He gives up, unable to think of a word.

Tenten shakes her head, unwilling to discuss either her troubled dreams or response to their unexpected ending. The movement sends her dark braids bobbing and causes her tense shoulders to ache abominably. Her racing heart begins to slow, and she swallows hard against her dry throat. "I'm sorry," she mumbles again, still a little too hyped on adrenaline to truly mean the apology. Very slowly, as though she is reluctant to part with the thing, she slips her dagger back inside her shirt and tucks it into its sheath.

Once the weapon is safely out of sight, Hao closes the distance between them and squats down upon the cold earth, sitting so that they are face to face. Together like this, the differences in their height become obvious. He watches Tenten closely as she rewinds her plaits into chignons, noting the grimace the briefly crosses her pretty features. Her small hands, raw and probably full of splinters from pulling the cart the day before, are undoubtedly paining her. Hao is suddenly very glad of the news he has to relate to her.

"You're smiling," Tenten comments, finishing the delicate task of tying her hair up and finally taking the time to truly observe her new friend. In the misty grey light of pre-dawn, hidden from their enemies in this shadowy mountain valley, the wide grin plastered across his plain features is like the sun. Tenten herself used to smile like that- brilliant and candidly, perhaps even childishly- once upon a distant time. Reminding herself not to dwell on the far-flung past, she stretches and asks, "Did something good happen?"

Hao bounces a little bit on his heels, then winces when the excited movement knocks his knee upward and it jolts his broken arm. He drops onto his butt with a hiss and blinks a few tears from his dark eyes before nodding toward her. His voice is eager and infectious. "At the meeting last night, the commander finally decided to run the risk and send some of us to Kaili to get more supplies. He's picked a team, a few people who know the area and can blend in, and my elder brother and I get to go!"

Tenten does not know with any certainty exactly where the city of Kaili is located, but the thought of provisions is amazingly uplifting. The guerillas have been so long without the basics, without ammunition and medicine and those much-needed bandages, that it is a wonder their group has survived at all. The young woman's empty stomach growls at the thought of real food, people food, something hearty and wholesome and not scavenged off the land and nearly unfit for consumption. "That's wonderful," she says, and manages to return the smile.

Hao nods, still grinning in that happy manner which would lead most people to assume he is a simpleton. He reaches up and grabs a piece of scratchy twine tied around his neck, gives it a little pull over his head. A heavy bronze key slides out from under his thin homespun shirt, and the young man dangles it before Tenten's mahogany eyes, incredibly proud. Tenten abruptly realizes that she is looking at the key to their weapons cache. "Look, our illustrious leader even put me in charge of our equipment!"

Remembering the unfortunate luck of the previous provision official, shot dead during the first moments of their last battle, Tenten is unsure how to reply. For Li Hao, the second son of a poor regional farmer, this high and honored position is obviously one to be taken very seriously. For Tenten, whose noble family was long said to be descended from Ming emperors, it is less than nothing, and a rumor being passed among the troops holds that it may even be cursed. Still, if her friend is happy… She bows very formally. "Congratulations."

Hao bows back, the movement a conditioned reflex, black eyes alit with cheerfulness. The veridgris-spotted key is drapped safely back around his neck, and he gives the object a little pat, as though to be sure it is real. A few euphoric heartbeats later, his capricious mind recalls something else, and the bright eyes dim. He glances quickly around the campsite, making sure the two of them are still unwatched, and then leans in close, whispering, "They came to another decision last night, too. One that involves you."

Despite the balmy air and her long shirtsleeves, Tenten goes suddenly cold, the skin on her arms breaking into goose bumps and the short hairs on the back of her neck rising to stand on end. Here it comes, the long-awaited persecution, the moment of abandonment that she had always known would occur. These men have finally tired of her presence and, despite her considerable skill with the rifle, can see no reason to keep her around. She swallows again, painfully this time, and asks, "So what did they say?"

Hao hunches over and adjust his sling slightly before raising his head and looking her straight in the eye. His smile has disappeared, gone as though it never was. "I won't tell you all of it. When the idea was first proposed, some of our less open-minded comrades were downright mean. They said- Never mind. But yesterday afternoon, the commander and some of the men saw you bash that Jap over the head, and they have it in their minds that you should be the one to guard him and extract any information you can."

A flood of relief washes over Tenten, and the girl exhales and runs a shaky hand through her bangs. The guerillas are not going to leave her to fend for herself after all! Then the full meaning of Hao's words sink in, and she feels a new worry arise; the young woman had not been aware that people had observed her shameful actions, seen her speaking to the enemy, and damaging what could be a vital source of intelligence? Worse, what if they now mistakenly believe her to be a Japanese sympathizer? Her voice is like a squeak. "Were they mad?"

Hao laughs at the pathetic sound and the sight of her chagrined face, then shakes his head. "Don't worry, they were actually really impressed. No one was mad at you. Well, I take that back. Old Mei was pretty angry that you broke one of her precious little bowls. She made the comment that you won't be getting any breakfast this morning."

Tenten glances over to where the old woman is trying to stir life into the ashes of last night's fire, needing the flames to warm their meal. A small cauldron is set off to the side, undoubtedly containing another round of weak porridge. Tenten grimaces, partly for knowledge that the witch who wants to deny her some sustenance, and partly in reaction to the food itself. She reaches over and grabs her canteen, twisting off the top and hissing a little when it scraps over a splinter. "Promise me you'll try to find some rice?"

Hearing the sadness and longing in her voice, Hao's natural compassion rises to the surface. He gives Tenten another smile, this one more gentle and restrained than the last, and reaches out to take the now empty canteen from her. Setting the vessel in his lap, the teenager gives one easy turn and the cap is back on, one small irritant removed from the girl's day. He climbs carefully to his feet and hands it back to her. "We're leaving in an hour. I promise I'll bring you some rice, and a salve for those hands. In the meantime, make sure you do eat."

"I will," Tenten promises, taking the hollow container and feeling touched by her new friend's kindness. For the first time since this horrible war crept up onto her life nearly a decade ago, the young woman feels like someone might be looking out for her. It is a nice sensation, one that she had been trying so hard to reclaim, and it suddenly occurs to her that she may not need to find her uncle and cousin to experience it. Perhaps… Well, she will consider that thought another time. "Good luck, and be careful."

"We'll be fine," Hao says reassuringly. He goes to turn away but pauses at the sight of the old wooden cart parked behind her. The contraption which is now a source of pride for him, rather than a burden he has been asked to haul over rough terrain. The same one that holds the enemy combatant. His face darkens at the thought of the Japanese soldier, and the ache in his broken arm seems to becomes more acute. He tells Tenten very seriously, "Don't take any chances with that prisoner. He's dangerous, even tied up."

There is an ominous tone to his words, but Hao is gone before Tenten can reply. The young woman decides that she had better check on the man in question.

* * *

Waking proves to be sheer hell. Hyuga Neji has no idea how many attempts he makes; after the third failed effort, each one alike as grains of rice, they begin to blur together in a noxious fashion. Every single time the soldier battles his way through the obscurity, beyond the dense miasma clouding his brain, he suffers one moment of painful lucidity. When he realizes his sorry physical state and all of the agony that accompanies it, he simply surrenders to the cloying oblivion and slips under again, waiting for death.

_I never found you._

_Father, I'm so sorry._

In the strangest of paradoxes, that remorseful thought- meant to be the concluding one of his existence actually acts as a catalyst. The reminder of that unfinished, herculean task ignites a will to live that Neji had not believed he was capable of possessing. Although the pain remains, a deep throbbing inside his head combined with a gripping sleepiness, the confusing nightmares that have haunted him dispel and pearlescent eyes snap open.

For a long moment, the young man sees double, but a few excruciating blinks clear the issue. The world resolves itself into the proper focus, and Neji realizes with a sense of disappointment that he is in much the same position as the first time: a well guarded prisoner of war, lying in a heap in the bottom of an ancient cart. Only now, he is contending with the onset of dehydration and the lingering effects a concussion.

_That bitch hit me. _

_What did I say?_

Neji sits up- the dizzying movement difficult due to his ankles being bound to his chaffed wrists- and waits for a disturbing moment of nausea to pass. The clement night air is still around him, freezing against his overheated skin. He reaches over and grabs one of the old blankets lying near his feet, drapes it awkwardly over his body, careless of the moldy smell emanating from its folds. Leaning against the rough side wall of the cart, he tries with little success to piece together the moments leading up to his forced loss of consciousness.

Out of the corner of his eye, Neji catches a movement in the dark. Turning his head carefully, he looks over and sees the young woman who had beaten him with- well, he cannot recall what the object had been, but it does not matter. She throws back her head, exposing her long neck, and drinks deeply from a metal canteen that catches the light of the moon overhead. All rational thought leaves the parched soldier's mind when a small trickle of liquid spills on the front of her fading shirt, leaving a dark patch.

Neji clears his dry throat, and one word slips instinctively past his thick tongue. "Water."

* * *

"_Mizu."_

The croaked foreign word startles Tenten, nearly causing her to drop her newly filled canteen, and she bobbles the container before glancing reflexively over toward the old cart. Her charge is sitting up, staring at her with untamed eyes that resemble twin moons. Gone is that appearance of insolence and hauteur, and the girl wonders if her reprehensible behavior has broken him. But then she realizes that he is staring at her battered canteen, longing evident, and Tenten knows that nature has accomplished what she could never.

The word comes again, followed by a desperate translation. "Water."

"Are you thirsty?" A confused Tenten tries to figure out what it is the prisoner is asking for. Most likely the gasping young man is simply in need of a drink, but maybe he wants to wash. Perhaps, although she seriously hopes not, he is trying to tell her that he needs to urinate.

"Yes. Water."

Tenten frowns, hands tightening their grip on the vessel almost possessively as she wonders what it is she should do. The stinging sensation of imbedded splinters causes the young woman to loosen her hold, but her mind continues its anxious train of thought, unabated. Should she share water with this man, the enemy of her race? She knows the commander wants to get information from him, and has placed her in charge of his welfare, but is he not a danger? Would it not be more prudent to allow him to die?

_Have I come so far that I can turn a blind eye to his suffering?_

Tenten eyes the hated khaki uniform- her brain not registering the strange way the fabric is plastered to his chest- and analyzes the feelings that rise up when she sees it. Anger, distrust, fear, and loathing… She has lived with them all so long that they have eclipsed the better parts of her nature. Her analytical mind tells her that there is no room in her broken heart for empathy. Even so, the teenager knows that death by dehydration is a long and agonizing affair, and she finds herself wondering if she can just walk away.

_Maybe…_

When the captive asks once more, this time with a polite but pleading edge, Tenten is reminded of his kind father, and she feels an instance of compassion. Stepping up to the side of the cart and standing on tiptoes so that she can reach over the edge, the young woman holds the canteen over his dry lips and tilts it downward. The life-giving liquid flows into his greedy mouth, and he begins gulping it down. His bound hands come up to clutch frantically at the metal, accidentally brushing against her own, and Tenten notes just how hot and dry they are.

_He's sick… _

_And it's my fault._

The thought leaves Tenten feeling both guilty and unnerved. She should not care, should write it all off as something the bastard deserves, and yet she does feel responsible. She feels _bad._

"Slow down. Don't drink it all at once, or you might throw up," Tenten says in a tone that is almost matronly, knowing even as the words leave her lips that she never should have been assigned this job. The young woman pries her prisoner's strong fingers off the nearly empty canteen and lifts it away. He collapses back against the side of the cart, gasping for air after holding his breath for so long. One hand drapes over his water-filled belly, and he mutters something she cannot understand, staring up at her weakly.

She once gazed up at his father that way.

* * *

"Thank you." Momentarily sated but still feeling sick, Neji leans back and murmurs the polite response out of habit rather than actual gratitude. The sudden influx of liquid leaves his delicate stomach swimming in a state of outright rebellion, and it takes everything the teenager has to keep the water down. Lying there, fighting the feeling of queasiness, he tries to focus on other things, and the pretty face peering curiously down at him is the perfect distraction.

_Why would she help me, especially after hitting me in the first place?_

_She wouldn't, unless _they_ want something from me._

The realization is sudden and upsetting, although it should not be unexpected. As a prisoner of war, certain things are to be anticipated, and torture and interrogation are one of them. A few years in the military, plus a strict and disciplined family background, have left Neji both physically and mentally resilient. He is confident that he can withstand the Chinese techniques, but a little disappointed as well. If he had not woken up, if he had refused the proffered water, he would be well on his way to a place beyond pain.

Above him, the girl begins speaking tentatively, and he knows it has begun. _"Ni jiao shen me ming ze?"_

Slowly, the Mandarin words form themselves into something he can understand. A disarmingly simple question from an unsuspected source, but one that he has been told interrogators always start with: What is your name? Neji frowns, steeling himself for whatever abuse is to come. Pulling himself back into a sitting position, he focuses his white eyes dead ahead and answers in the manner he had been taught during basic training. "Hyuga Neji, Sergeant, Thirteenth Infantry Division, Imperial Japanese Army."

There is no answer, either a verbal response or a physical blow, so Neji glances out of the corner of his eye. The comely young woman is frowning, probably not understanding half of what he has just said, and the young soldier experiences a moment of arrogant superiority, reveling in how dumb the Chinese peasants are. How on earth are they supposed to interrogate him if they cannot even understand his most basic answers? This will either be much easier or far more painful and useless than he had thought.

"Neji?"

Neji has to repress a smirk at the sound of his name; her accent is charming, really, but these backwoods people will never learn anything if that is the best she can do. Of course, the band's higher-ups never should have sent a woman to do a man's distasteful job in the first place. Even one who might know his father, and thereby have some kind of hold over him. Neji nods, feeling quite supercillious, and repeats himself. "Hyuga Neji, Sergeant, Thirteenth Infantry Division, Imperial Japanese Army."

To Neji's eternal confusion, the girl steps back onto tiptoe and once again hands him her canteen. Against his better judgment, he twists the lid off and finishes the rest of the sweet water, feeling his thirst ease. Unsure of what else to do with the container- he cannot use it as a weapon, after all- Neji hands it back, clumsy due to his restraints. A few heartbeats pass, and one hundred emotions seem to flicker over the young woman's face. Then she inclines her head slightly and says, _"Wo jiao Zhu Tenten."_

It is not the question of an interrogator, but a normal statement: My name is Zhu Tenten.

_To be continued…_


	4. Crows Everywhere are Equally Black

_Naruto © _Masashi Kishimoto.

_Author's notes: Thanks for your kind reviews! _Re gou _is the Mandarin words for what Americans refer to as hot dogs, and _ma huang _is a Chinese plant containing ephedrine. All other translations should be self-explanatory, and I promise that I will quit beating up on Neji soon. _

**The Hardest Journey**

_What was I thinking? _

_Why did I tell him my name?_

Seated cross-legged upon the cold and rocky ground, Tenten glances up at the nearby wagon which still holds the guerilla's ill prisoner. Her chocolate eyes go blank at the very sight of the troublesome contraption- an irregular shape, even blacker than the surrounding darkness- and the girl frowns, losing herself completely to her pessimistic thoughts. Really, what sort of interrogator was she, that she could so completely miss out on any pertinent information? And worse, she had ended up introducing herself to her charge!

Taking a deep breath, Tenten tells herself that she need not worry about her lapse in judgement. A name is merely a title, something to help avoid confusion, and nothing more. It is a thing that easily given and just as simply replaced- she perhaps knows this better than anyone. Names do not define a person and, no matter what some cultures believe, the use of someone's name does not give you any special power over another. Just because the Japanese man now knows what to call his jailer does not mean he is any less of a captive.

_Besides, I know his name, too._

The thought contents her momentarily, and Tenten returns to her previous task, squinting down at the fleshy part at the base of her right thumb. One large spot is red and greatly inflamed, sore to the touch. The young woman knows that it is probably a splinter gained from hauling the cart uphill the night before, and she probes the area with the ragged and dirty thumb nail of the other hand, grimacing from the stabbing pressure all the while. After a few pain-filled seconds of exploration, she comes up empty and sighs. Perhaps it is just a still-forming blister.

Disappointed at the lost prospect of relief, Tenten continues her examination, glancing over her calloused hands. The skin of her palms is bright red and raw, the cuticles dry and peeling painfully backward, all ten nails chipped and broken. In some places, earth has been ground into the creases, and the entire sorry condition combines with the poor lighting from a moon just two days past its sickle state to conspire against her. She cannot see the numerous irritating little things past the ugliness of the whole package. These are not the hands of a noble woman.

_Not even Lee and Uncle Gai, with their constant kung-fu training, had hands as hideous as these. _

That thought hurts, for her mother and her nanny had raised her to be more than this. Tenten knows that she should have been a lady by now, a gentle and delicate creature, pretty and well-mannered and perhaps even awaiting a marriage to some nice and upstanding young man chosen by her family. But here she is, hiding far to the south, living among peasants and scrounging off the land, working her fine hands to the bone in a desperate attempt to survive. Here, she is at worst a mule and at best a nosy nursemaid, and she is certain that her parents wanted her to become either.

Oh gods, how she has fallen!

Trying to shake off her depression, Tenten straightens her stiff legs and then bends them upward in front of her body, leaning forward and laying her dark head upon her knees. She turns it ever so slightly, allowing one chocolate eye some freedom, so that she may still view the cart in front of her. The position is uncomfortable to say the least, bringing to the forefront of her mind every ache and pain in her body, from her throbbing foot to her numb bottom and on to her aching hands, but she should not fall asleep this way, no matter how much she desperately wants to.

Why, she asks herself, did her new friend Hao have to be wake her this morning, before the sun even rose? Sure, the companionable teenager had some news to impart, but with the exception of the promise of wholesome food, Tenten could have done without it all. After two nights of negligible rest- soon to be three- she needs some sleep far more than she needed to hear any of the group's campfire gossip or their commander's lofty appointments. And he could have spared her the knowledge that the sick and uncooperative Japanese soldier- Neji, she reminds herself- was now her concern.

"_Mizu_."

The croaked plea pulls Tenten from her reverie, and she climbs wearily to her feet, battered canteen clutched in her hand. Over the past few hours, she has become well acquainted with this one foreign word, and knows that her prisoner is once again begging for water. He has already drunk the container's whole contents three times, and shows no sign of slowing down, despite Tenten's repeated insistence that he allow the liquid to sit before ingesting more. Not for the first time that night, she thinks it is a good thing they have a barrel full of water stored in the wagon, for she cannot afford to leave him and get more.

Climbing carefully onto the back of the rickety old cart, hanging on at the point farthest away from the captive and nearest to the water drum, Tenten looks down on him. Neji is sleeping again, despite the fact that he had tried so hard to stay awake after their introductions, and had surprisingly managed to do so for about three hours. His eerie, pupil-less pearl eyes are closed and his pale, handsome face is contorted by some sort of hideous dream. Occassionally, he murmurs things, calling out _Chichiue _and other words for which Tenten has no translation.

Satisfied that he is no condition to be a danger to herself, Tenten pries the heavy lid from the rusting drum and lowers her canteen into the cool water. An air bubble escapes from the top, making a funny noise as it pops, followed by two smaller ones, and the container becomes weighted in her hands. She lifts it out carefully, and licks the faintly metallic tasting water from her hand before sealing the barrel. Tenten lifts her leg to step awkwardly into the wagon, then remembers Hao's warning about the prisoner and thinks better of it, jumping to the safety of the ground.

_He's dangerous, even tied up._

Walking around to stand by the cart's side, Tenten climbs up onto her tiptoes and reaches over so that her hand hangs nearly above the slumbering man's face. The girl shakes the canteen so that the liquid inside sloshes loudly and the container knocks the young man in the shoulder. She is dismayed to still feel the burning heat of his skin through his tan uniform. If Neji is truly recovering from his illness, benefiting from her ministrations, the teenaged guerilla cannot tell. She raises her voice and asks, "Hey, are you thirsty? You called for water."

Those depthless eyes crack open in response, blinding white and brighter even than the moon above, and Tenten can see they are hot with fever. Although the pallid young man is looking straight at her, it is obvious that he does not actually see her form. He blinks a few times, clearly disoriented, and before focusing upon the container dangling in front of him, latching onto it with his bound hands and causing Tenten to spill a little bit of the precious water upon his shirt. The rest makes it more or less into his wide open mouth, though she thinks he gets the credit for that.

After Neji drains the canteen, Tenten jerks the vessel from his grasp, feeling rather inadequate. She has never before nursed a person, never been responsible for the welfare of another, and the anxious young woman is not at all sure that she is doing the right thing. What if, she worries with a frightened shiver, the water is merely draining into his lungs and drowning him with an infinite slowness? Such a thing must be possible, but then, why would he crave the liquid so? Staring down at him, watching as he curls back up and drifts off, she is dismayed not to come up with an answer.

_It would be better for us all, yourself included, if you just slipped away quietly._

The verhement thought bubbles up from somewhere deep inside her, and Tenten is startled into considering it; there is no hope of this occurring, however. Ill, their captive will not be able to make an escape, at least not one that could be plausibly explained. Also, so long as the girl dutifully continues to help him convalesce, he probably will not be dying any time soon. Of course, Tenten could help him along with a quick slash to the throat, but to kill a helpless man just seems wrong, even if he is the enemy, and she knows that doing so would get her in trouble with her comrades.

They are at an impasse.

* * *

Aided by the tired but tenacious Tenten, Neji's condition steadily improves throughout the long night. By the time the dawn breaks, the young man is fully awake and finally coherent, though nowhere near healed of his injuries. He sits up in the cart, letting the nasty blanket fall away now that his fever is gone, and watches the sun rise from the direction of his homeland. Finally, it reaches a high point and drives the shadows from this deep and secluded mountain valley, changing the color of the barren, rocky canyon walls from darkest grey to a warm ochre.

Birds begin calling nearby, their tiny chirps echoing throughout the length of the canyon, and the teenaged soldier looks up to see a number of small swallows flitting to and fro. The summer is high and as a consequence the creatures are nesting, carrying rough twigs and beaks' full of spitty mud toward the highest crags, where they deposit the mess and shape it into a strange sort of clinging abode. Neji likes the little birds, for they have them back in Japan, and he is dismayed to remember that the Chinese barbarians eat their nests.

Around him, the guerrilla camp begins to stir, forty odd men groaning and waking at roughly the same time. As he watches, they stand and stretch, and a few glance disgustedly in his direction before stumbling off to pee. Despite the incredible volume of water Neji downed last night, little has made it into his bladder, thus saving him the same trouble and serving as further evidence of just how sick he had been. Even now, he still feels a lingering thirst, but that annoyance has now been eclipsed by the one in his rumbling gut. Hyuga Neji is starving.

"_Ni e le ma?" _Are you hungry?

Neji turns his head to see his unlikely guard- Zhu Tenten, he thinks that what how the girl had introduced herself last night- come walking over from the center of the bivouac. Clutched carefully in her small hands are two wooden bowls filled with something pale and steaming, and the sight of them leaves Neji feeling weak. Never mind all the disgusting things the Chinese could possibly be having for breakfast, the young sergeant is now willingly to try anything. He nods his ebony head in a feeble affirmative, replying 'yes' in her own language. _"Shi de."_

Tenten comes to a stop before him and passes up one serving of food, and Neji takes a precise hold of the roughened ware and glances at it apprehensively. Now that sustenance is so close- in his very hands- he is beginning to wonder once again if he should partake of it. What if the guerillas have poisoned it? Or worse, what if there is some sort of truth-inducing hallucinogenic mixed in, and they are planning on another round of interrogation later? Glancing down at the brunette, he asks in broken Mandarin what it is they are serving.

The girl frowns upwards at him for a moment- undoubtedly worried that he will not consume their toxic foodstuffs- then rolls her brown eyes and takes a cavalier swig of her own breakfast. Her weary face lights up then, features reorganizing themselves into something that is almost a smile. Neji wonders if the chow could really taste that good. _"Re gou," _she mutters then, impolitely replying around a blisteringly warm mouthful. The soldier hears the frustration in her tone, but is very dismayed not to recognize any of the words.

_I'm trying to speak their language, the least they could do is attempt to help me out._

_On second though, no, these people would butcher Japanese horribly._

The wholesome aroma of the food in his hands wafts upward to his nose, and Neji sniffs appreciatively. His stomach gives another loud gurgle in response, and the youth makes up his mind then; he is going to eat, content in the knowledge that even if this breakfast is swimming with poison, at least he will soon be out of his misery. And as for a truth-serum, the sergeant is pretty sure that he would not be able to tell them anything important relating to the war, having deserted his post months ago. Let it be laced with something, anything, as long as it tastes good going down.

Neji goes to lift the bowl to his mouth, only to find that his restraints will not allow him to reach any higher than his clavicle. He verbally damns the course fetters and lowers the wooden dish, and it is the quiet curse that which catches Tenten's attention. "I can't reach," he murmurs in his own language, not knowing the proper words in hers, and the young man begins miming the action again. After the second attempt, the girl understands the problem, and quickly drains the dregs of her own bowl before reaching up to take his in hand.

Neji had hoped Tenten would loosen his tight, filthy bindings, and allow him the dignity of feeding himself. He had also been wishing that she would conveniently forget to retie them, and perhaps he could make an escape later, under the cover of darkness. That is not to be though, as Tenten climbs onto the side of the cart and tips the bowl over his face, feeding him as though he is one of the same birds he observed earlier. He is disgusted to find that the food is some sort of millet porridge, and he is even more revolted when he continues to slurp the mess down, as though it is some sort of gourmet delicacy.

How he has fallen!

* * *

Tenten frowns as she finds herself standing in the back of the long victuals line. In front of her are a good twenty guerillas, all waiting for breakfast and some hoping to be lucky enough to get away with seconds. Leaning to the side, the young woman peers past the men, to where Old Mei is ladling slop into one bowl after another with the speed of a tortoise. Tenten nearly kicks the ground in frustration, and begins wondering how badly it would be taken if she skipped the line altogether; she only wants to return the bowls, after all, and the prisoner could even now be escaping.

_At least I didn't untie him, so he'll have to roll away if he goes. _

_What a shame he didn't understand the joke about dog meat. _

After what seems like an eternity of waiting, Tenten finally makes it to the front of the queue, and wordlessly holds out both bowls toward the old woman. An ugly man standing behind the teenager jabs her rudely in the shoulder, causing her to stumble forward. She manages to keep from tripping over the hot cauldron, but drops one of the precious servers. Regaining her balance, she twists to meet his angry gaze and the guerilla mutters something about her already having eaten two full servings. "You don't do anything special, so you certainly don't need to eat that much."

Tenten is hard put to restrain herself. Her empty hand flexes and moves instinctively toward her shirt, just in case. "I wasn't getting seconds, you-"

Old Mei steps up then, putting one wizened hand on Tenten's shoulder, and glaring out of sunken dark eyes toward the vexing man. Her elderly husband has been the commander of the guerillas for years- having been a soldier for a warlord in his youth- and she has long since been responsible for feeding forty people, which has taught her how to handle sticky situations. The experience of so long a life is also a plus. "She was just returning the bowls, and if I am not mistaken, you've already had a helping yourself. Move along, Chang."

The man tosses his bowl to the ground and slinks off, and the relieved Tenten turns gratefully to the older woman, bowing and murmuring her thanks. Mei waves the gratitude off and takes the remaining dish from her hands, begins to stoop in order to collect the fallen pair; Tenten beats her to them, bending with the agility of youth and scooping the wares up. As the teenager hands them back, the crone leans in close and squints up at Tenten's haggard face, her thin lips pursed in what the girl thinks must be a sign of disapproval. "You've got bags under your eyes. Have you been sleeping?"

Tenten heaves a resigned sigh and shakes her head, strands of her mahogany hair falling loose from their chignons. She has not had time to rewind the braids this morning, and their sloppiness further adds to her drawn look. The dismayed young woman knows that if a half-blind sexagenarian can notice that a person looks bad, then that individual must look absolutely terrible. No sense trying to deny it, so she does not. "No, madam. I haven't really slept in three days, and as long as I'm responsible for the prisoner, I don't think I will be getting any rest."

Mei turns around and glares daggers at her husband. The old man is sitting in the shadows of a hastily erected tent- the only such structure in the camp- picking at his food with a set of metal chopsticks. He ignores the angry matron until she begins jabbering at him in flurry of Cantonese so fast that Tenten cannot follow it. The commander does not say anything, does not bother responding to his wife, but he finally glances with the bares interest toward Tenten. Observing her, he gives a small nod that sends his wife into silence. "Has the Japanese soldier told you anything?"

Tenten drops her eyes respectfully and thinks back to the night before, when the delirious young man had spoken many things in his own language. Really, all she had managed to understand was his name. She bows to the shrewd old man, lower even than she had to Mei, and whispers a polite negative and an apology for failing in her duty. She does not mean the words, of course, for she had not wanted the atrocious job in the first place, and she has no aptitude for torture, but she knows instinctively that if she upsets their leader she will be abandoned.

Mei steps forward, returning the elderly commander's attention to herself. The old woman begins speaking again, still at the same furious pace she used earlier, and gestures broadly toward the men and then back to Tenten. The young woman is surprised to realize that she is still being spoken for; it is a nice change, having someone try to take care of her. Her thoughts are interrupted when Mei turns back toward her and gives a smile that shows the stumps of her rotted teeth. "Don't worry, honey. He'll send someone over after breakfast, and they'll watch him until you wake up. Have a good sleep."

* * *

"_Hyuga Neji, Gunso, Hohei Dai-Jusan Shidan, Dai-Nippon Teikoku Rokugun."_

Tenten groans aloud and rolls over onto her belly, pulling the moldy, stinking blanket over her mussed head. She draps one hand up to cover an ear, trying to block out the strange words rattling around in her mind. Something about them, however, haunts her; they replay over and over and over again in the most annoying fashion, reminding her of the chanting of monks or song lyrics that are too catchy to be forgotten. Against her will, she begins to focus upon them, wondering where she has heard them previously.

"_Hyuga Neji, Gunso, Hohei Dai-Jusan Shidan, Dai-Nippon Teikoku Rokugun."_

The words sound nothing like Mandarin, the comforting language of her childhood. Nor are they an example of the many toned, conservative Cantonese that is so commonly spoken in this lush southern country. Furthermore, they are not recognizable as any of the many strange dialects occassionaly used by the anomalous ethnic peoples scattered across the landscape. Certainly, the words can have no intelligible meaning, so why should they sound so very familiar to her ears? Why should they bother her so?

"_Hyuga Neji…"_

Hyuga Neji? Now where has she heard that before? Tenten rolls over once more, this time settling upon her left side and feeling a tiny rock dig painfully into the soft flesh of her hip. The young woman curls up and focuses on that ache, squeezing her eyes tightly shut and hoping to erase the annoying words from her brain; the attempt works for a time, but then the jab becomes too painful to bear. She shifts once more, turning onto her back and throwing off the heavy blanket before blinking the resulting tears from her chocolate eyes.

The moon above is almost a quarter full, and at the sight of it something clicks inside her mind. Hyuga Neji is the soldier with the pearl eyes! Tenten is startled to realize that she had been dreaming of him, though she immediately rationalizes that such a thing would be quite natural, given that the captive is such an important part of her life at the moment. But still, she worries, what if she had called out his name in her sleep, and someone managed to overheard her? How embarrassing that would be, to have people thinking she was hot for their prisoner.

Tenten covers her warm face with her hands, certain that she must be blushing, and tries to turn her racing thoughts away from the guerilla's amazing white-eyed detainee. Determined to go back to sleep, the girl forces herself to breath slowly and- simply because it is less painful than thinking about her past, and she feels she owes him that much- settles for thinking about her friend Hao and wondering where he is. Has his little provision buying party reached Kaili yet? Are they even now on their way back, toting delicious white rice and the pain relieving _ma huang_?

A strange sound reaches Tenten's ears; a _clack_ like that of one wooden object striking upon another. What follows can only be described as a grunt of pain, and immediately after there follows a bark of laughter. The noises come again, this time slightly different, as though a softer object has been hit. The teenager has almost persuaded herself to sit up and look when she hears something else, something equally disturbing. The words that have driven Tenten from her slumber, which she thought she had dreamed, abruptly become very real.

"_Hyuga Neji, Gunso, Hohei Dai-Jusan Shidan, Dai-Nippon Teikoku Rokugun."_

"Is that all you can say? We've had a rumor that you all are planning some sort of grand offensive off to the east. Why don't you tell us about that?"

Tenten bolts upright and glances toward the old wagon out of habit. The prisoner is not there, and she leaps to her feet, panicking. Her chocolate orbs pierce the gloomy darkness and alight upon a figure perhaps ten feet away, standing with feet spaced widely apart and jauntily swinging a great wooden club. Tenten moves closer, eyes strained to their limit, and is shocked to recognize the man from earlier that afternoon, when she stood in the chow line. This was who they had sent to take her place and guard the captive? Chang the barbarian?

_The commander purposefully chose him._

The realization is a brutal one, knocking the breath from her lungs. Rage takes hold then, the same all-consuming anger that had taken over days ago and caused her to bash the head of their detainee. Tenten curls her hands into fists and strides forward, covering the small distance between herself and the new interrogator; as she gets closer, the young woman can see Neji, tied in a sitting position to the trunk of a scraggly tree. His head is lolled forward onto his chest, and she cannot see his face. For a moment, Tenten believes him dead.

"Bastard," Tenten hisses, not even really sure why she cares. All she knows is that this young man was her responsibility, that he had been unwell, and now people were taking cruel advantage of that. "You don't kick a dog when he's down."

Chang whirls around, surprised to find Tenten standing so close behind him, but he plays off his discomfiture at her sudden appearance, hefting the club over his shoulder and smiling in a false, overly friendly way. "I thought you were sleeping, little girl. Come to help? I warn you, it's dirty work. He doesn't really want to talk."

Without granting the patronizing man the courtesy of a reply, Tenten goes to step past him. Chang slaps one hand heavily onto her thin shoulder, squeezing the thin bones underneath mercilessly, and the girl shrugs violently from his grasp. When he snarls at the rebuff and latches onto the back of her shirt, she whirls around and punches him in the nose as hard as she is able, thrusting upward in the way her Uncle Gai had taught her so many years ago. The man gives a loud yelp and lets go of her, blood gushing from his wounded proboscis. "You bitch!"

Ignoring the curses of the injured guerilla, Tenten turns on her heel and walks over to the unconscious Neji, kneeling down before him. She is pleasantly surprised to find that he is still breathing, but the hitched way in which he does so indicates his poor body had taken yet more damage. Tenten has never felt more guilty than she does now, glancing at the prisoner's bowed ebony head. Her right hand fumbles inside her shirt for her knife, and she severs the ropes binding him to the tree with single quick slash, letting them fall to the ground. "Hyuga Neji, are you okay?"

The young soldier drops forward into her arms without a sound, his silky head coming to rest against the gentle swell of her breast, and an anxious Tenten is hard pressed not to shake him. Glancing down, the young woman notes that Chang had untied the ropes binding his wrists to his ankles, making it possible for Neji to walk. Although she will have to remedy that later, Tenten is momentarily glad; the lack of restraints will make the task of moving him easier. She shifts her grip, hands moving beneath his arms, and pulls the dazed captive to his feet. "Can you hear me?"

The dark head lifts, and white eyes crack open, gazing up at her face blurrily. Tenten is once again struck with the feeling that he is looking through her. Then comes the quiet response, in the accursed Japanese that she so desperately wishes she could comprehend: _"Domo arigatou gozaimashita, Hinata-sama."_

Standing behind her, Chang must have overheard the reply, and perhaps even understood some of it, for he moves into her line of vision and looks Tenten straight in her face- she wonders just what it is he sees there- before laughing. His response, when it comes, is high-pitched and nasally-sounding, undoubtedly due to his newly broken nose. His words are difficult to recognize, but Tenten does. She soon wishes that she had not. "That's too funny. Here you are, caring for him and practically committing treason, and he doesn't even know who you are."

"Shut up," Tenten hisses to the obnoxious guerilla. The young woman turns her back on the man apprehensively and, draping one of the prisoner's arms over her shoulder, begins half-carrying the stumbling soldier back toward the cart which suddenly seems rather distant. One ear is tuned to the muttered and entirely nonsensical ramblings of the detainee, but the rest of Tenten's mind is focused on a new problem, one that terrifies her. Has she indeed, by way interrupting what was undoubtedly a blessed interrogation, performed an act of rebellion against her people?

Her heart, previously believed dead, says no.

_To be continued…_


	5. Thoughts Have All Turned to Ash

_Naruto ©_ Masashi Kishimoto.

_Author's notes: First off, let me apologize for the long wait between chapters. To everyone who is sticking this out, you are wonderful. I hope not to disappoint you. Second, let me apologize for writing everything from two points of view. At the moment, it is necessary, but I hope to soon resolve that. _

_Also, the number four is considered bad luck in both China and Japan, because it sounds similiar to the word for "death."_

**The Hardest Journey**

That morning, there is no dawn. Storm clouds roll in from the east during the night, obscuring the sky and causing the stars to wink out of existence, their tiny lights disappearing one by one. The tempest is perhaps the weakened remnants of an old and distant land-falling typhoon, for it is certainly much worse than the average seasonal rains. It crashes against the high mountains with devastating force, breaking in the same way that an ocean wave does when it hits a sturdy seawall, and the resulting deluge hides the sun that rises a few hours later.

The camping guerillas soon find themselves trapped in a barren canyon that has precious little spongy soil and even less thirsty vegetation, and it quickly becomes awash with both the falling rain and the water which flows downward from the upper peaks. Lightning flares high above, jagged bolts crisscrossing the sky and briefly illuminating the great swirling world around them. Thunder crashes overhead, sometimes earsplitting and at other times seemingly answered by the eerie, deep voice of the mountain beneath their soaked feet.

It is a frightening time for most of the superstitious insurgents, but to Zhu Tenten- crouched underneath the old supply cart in a vain attempt to remain dry- it is hardly terrifying.

In the earliest part of the night, just prior to the rains, the young woman had committed an act of treason, assaulting a comrade who had been temporarily placed in charge of their prisoner. The fact that the bellicose man, Chang, had been torturing the Japanese soldier seems to be of little significance to anyone else; to Tenten, however, his behavior had been morally reprehensible. She had reassumed custody with a great deal of fanfare, breaking Chang's nose, and now she is beginning to fear the consequences of her rash actions.

"I don't regret it," Tenten murmurs, determination in her tone. She tilts her head back and gazes up at the bottom of the wagon, and the splintered timbers swim before her chocolate gaze in a manner which has nothing to do with the rain leaking through the ancient structure. All of her feelings come to a head- the stress of waiting for her fate to be determined, of dealing with the prisoner, of being all alone so very far from home, combined with the constant state of physical exhaustion- is simply too much for her to bear.

Out of sight under the cart, with water pooling around her ankles, Tenten begins to cry, and only the pounding rain muffles her sobs.

* * *

Hyuga Neji hunkers further down into his cramped corner of the cart, resting his cheek upon the wooden planks and awkwardly pulling the heavy blanket up over his ebony head. The coverlet does not help keep him dry; it is soaked through, and has been for some time now. The mantle does, however, give the weary young man a much-needed sense of privacy and allows him a moment of reflection, precious time to consider all that has happened since his capture and what his next step should be if he wants to get out of this jam alive.

Last night had been, by far, the worst since his incarceration began. The tenacity of his appointed guard, the young Chinese female whom he had grown accustomed to, had failed. Something had happened, outside of his limited sphere of knowledge, and the soldier had been turned over to a guerilla who had been all to willing too try and beat vital information from him. Thank the gods that the man had decided to take his time with the extraction, and he had only managed to crack a rib and muddle his mind before the girl intervened.

_Why did she save me?_

_ Is it some sort of plot?_

Perhaps the girl had been instructed by her scheming old commander to wait until he had been beaten nearly unconscious, and then come to the rescue. Maybe they believed that if she were to gain his trust, he would confide in her. Maybe she has kinder, gentler, more subtle ways of inducing conversation. Did not his own country have women spies and propagandists? Why should these people- stupid as they seem- be any different? Neji blinks away a drop of water and decides that he needs to keep his wits about him, and not trust anyone. Still…

_I mistook her for Hinata-sama. _

_How could I have done that? _

_They are nothing alike…_

That much is certainly true, Neji thinks with a frown, picturing his younger cousin in his mind. Hinata, the sheltered heir to their illustrious family, is the epitome of Japanese womanhood: well trained in household management, classically beautiful, graceful and virtuous, and wholly in need of his protection. Hinata would never, could never, do some of the almost unnatural things he has observed the Chinese girl executing. Neji finds himself unable to imagine gentle Hinata breaking a man's nose, no matter what the circumstances.

That does not necessarily mean Hinata was weak willed, though. A remembrance steals upon him unexpectedly, the afternoon when his silken-swathed cousin had stood ramrod-straight in their spacious home and boldly asked the iron-jawed recruiter why he was being drafted at the too young age of fifteen. In the end, all her courage had not mattered; their family had a long and distinguished history of military service, and Neji had found himself promptly shipped overseas, following the course laid out by both his missing father and his uncle.

_I hope Hinata-sama is safe and well._

_Perhaps Tokyo has not yet been bombed._

Like a blast from one of those same shells, a memory rises to the surface of the young man's troubled mind; the ingrained image of the Chinese girl from the night before. Her pretty face- Neji will admit that she is attractive, but only to himself- holds both worry and anger, and there is a deep crease across the tan skin of her forehead. But it is her tender eyes that really catch his attention, beautiful rich brown ones so different from his clan's own. Neither the face nor the eyes are a match for his cousin Hinata, but the emotion that rests there is the same.

_She was truly concerned for my wellbeing. _

The revelation is as disturbing as it is sudden, and it leaves Neji in a tangle of inexplicable feelings.

_I should mean nothing to her. _

_Why does she care?_

He has no answer.

* * *

The tempest finally abates in the late afternoon, although the grey clouds still hover ominously low, a thick and smothering blanket that muffles sound and leaves the guerillas cut off from the world beneath their mountain pass. They are cold and wet, hungry and frightened, but mostly unscathed. The only real injuries sustained came from tiny rocks being washed down from the summit, and those are mostly minor cuts and bruises. Certainly no worse than what they would have found on the battlefield, and everyone in the group is grateful for it.

Everyone except for Zhu Tenten, that is. The storm had provided her with a brief grace period before the upcoming confrontation with her commander and fellow soldiers, but now that it has passed, so too has her freedom. She will have to leave her hiding place and face the consequences of her actions, whatever they may be. In all likelihood, it will not be pleasant, and the knowledge depresses her further. "Might as well get it over with," she murmurs, before steeling herself and slipping from under the edge of the supply cart.

Chocolate eyes unseeing, the distracted teenager stands up and bumps right into the waiting form of her enemy, Chang. With one hand, he grabs Tenten by the front of her soaked shirt and yanks her upward so that she is nearly standing on tiptoe. Before she can react, the other appendage is inside her top, fumbling across her the taut plane of her stomach to the waistband of her pants. Finding her knife tucked there, Chang divests her of it, throwing the weapon on the ground a few feet away. "Not so tough without that, are you?"

"Let me go," Tenten hisses, instinctively bringing both hands up to claw at his already-damaged face. Her resistance is totally ineffectual; the man is holding her at arm's length from his body, and with her shorter reach she is unable to get to her target. The young woman settles for digging her broken, dirty nails into his wrists; they leave thin welts and little red crescents upon his sallow skin, but have little effect against the guerilla's rage. The kick she attempts barely grazes his thigh, does not even make him blink.

Chang smiles, leering at her in a way that makes her stomach churn and her bladder feel dangerously full. "I've been looking all over for you, girlie. I should have known you'd be here with your little friend. Two of a kind, aren't you?" His tones are still nasal-sounding due to his broken nose, but there is no mistaking the malice present. Not even when he laughs, which he does now, spine-tingling low chuckles that seem to fill the space between them. "You got lucky with this storm, but now the boss wants to see you. You're gonna get what you deserve."

Tenten's frightened mind seizes on just one thought. She had known this would happen, could tell even before they put the prisoner into her care. Something would go wrong- after all, everything seems to go wrong when it comes to her- the odd connection between her and Neji would come to light, and she would be accused of being a Japanese sympathizer. The need to defend her character is inherent, the denial falling from her lips reflexive. She does not understand why she cannot meet Chang's eyes, though. "He's not my friend."

"Bullshit," Chang snarls, further infuriated by her renunciation. His hand tightens into the fabric of her worn shirt, and in a surge of strength the man lifts Tenten so that even her feet now dangle above the ground. The left seam of her top begins to rip, the material tearing from the raggedy hem all the way up to the bottom of her ribcage, but the combatants are too distracted by each other to notice. "You're obviously out to support that bastard; now, did you choose to help him because you're a whore? Or are you a spy, as well?"

"I'm not," Tenten whispers, enraged by his accusations. How dare this man speak such base lies? Her chipped nails dig further into the hard flesh of his forearm, which has begun to shake with the effort of holding her aloft, and this time they manage to draw a little blood. The sight of the droplets, bright red against the grey of the world around them, stirs something deep within her soul. She finds the strength to meet Chang's gaze, stares coldly into his dark eyes and sees only hatred reflected there. "I'm none of those things, and you will put me down. Now."

Chang spits on her, hawking a disgusting mixture of saliva and mucus onto her right breast. His free hand joins the one holding her, twisting into her shirt just beside the stain, and he carelessly drags her closer. Tenten can feel the heat radiating from his body, smell the icky dampness of his oft-patched clothes. In response to her order, the sneer returns to his broken visage, but after a moment it fades and the man begins chuckling again. "Or you'll what?"

Tenten's hand shoots out of its own accord, once again aiming for his narrow eyes. The young woman misses the sensitive organs, but her nails scrape down his face, leaving a stinging crimson gouge from socket to chin. Chang howls as her right foot- the injured one, because she has no time to think about it- smashes painfully into his kneecap. He does not release her, however, just hurls her back against the cart. The antique conveyance shudders against the impact, and a dazed Tenten falls heavily into the mud at his feet.

"Stupid bitch, you're lucky I don't kill you right now!"

Down on her hands and knees, Tenten looks up at the bleeding man looming over her just as her fingers close around the handle of her knife. "Go ahead and try it," she gasps, struggling to pull air into her rebelling lungs. Her body shakes and her head swims, and the teenager knows that a fight would probably kill her, but at present she does not care; since a quick execution is likely the best outcome of her upcoming trial, the girl is more than willing to accept death now if it means that Chang will be joining her in that dark abyss.

Perhaps Tenten's determination shows on her face. Maybe Chang's spinelessness finally gets the better of him; she does have a weapon now, and could prove more than a match for his strength. Or it could just be the fact that the he is in too much pain to mount an attack. Whatever his reasons, the angry guerilla spits once more upon the soggy ground in front of her. "The boss wants to see you as soon as possible. And bring the Jap." And then he turns and limps away, back down the path toward where the other guerillas are grouping.

Slowly, Tenten pulls herself to her aching feet. Her legs are trembling, nearly refusing to support her; in the end, she has to lock her knees even to stand. The young woman catches sight of her reflection in a nearby puddle and is stunned. Her hair has mostly fallen out of its chignons, and is rapidly turning to frizz in the high humidity. Eyes are red and swollen from her earlier weeping, and her wan face looks splotchy. Perhaps worst of all, her homespun clothing is rent to an indecent degree and covered in a layer of mud. How is she to face everyone looking like this?

"_Daijobu desu ka?"_

Tenten whirls around and looks up to find her prisoner staring down at her. Seated in the wagon, with his ebony hair dripping and his khaki uniform plastered to his body, his appearance is nearly as pathetic as her own. That is perhaps appropriate; if she is convicted of treason, they will soon be facing the same circumstances. And yet she is embarrassed that he may have witnessed the way Chang so casually abused her. "I don't know what you're saying," the girl mumbles, frustrated and ashamed and just down right tired of him.

To her surprise, the captive- Hyuga Neji- tries once more to communicate with her. This time he uses her own language, and the words are halting and broken, barely understandable. But comprehend them Tenten does, though not without a great degree of amazement. "Are you… all right?"

* * *

_I can't believe I feel asleep._

_ I've most likely missed my only chance to escape…_

Hyuga Neji strains his ears for any indication that it could still be raining, all the while cursing himself for a fool. Earlier, when the gale first began to intensify, he had realized he had been given an opportunity: if the ropes being used to bind him became wet enough, perhaps he could slip them off and run away. By the time the distracted guerillas checked on him, he would be long gone, away from the troublesome Chinese girl and on his way to find his missing father. It had been a good plan, but then he had fallen asleep and screwed it all up.

The sound of voices jabbering in Cantonese reaches him. He has a tenuous grasp of Mandarin, picked up from being stationed in this backward country for more than a year, but this second language is completely beyond him. Really, he asks himself, what sensible nation would have more than one language? Still, it sounds like two people are vehemently arguing and, judging by the feminine tones, one of them appears to be his jailer. Interested, the young man lifts the drenched, smelly blanket from his head and sits slowly up.

Assessing white eyes alight upon the figure of the Chinese girl, locked in the iron grip of the barbarian interrogator from the night before. Her feet swinging above the ground, the young woman seems to be helpless and outmatched, but as Neji watches the man holding her makes a critical mistake and pulls her closer. The ensuing scramble takes just a moment, and the cart quakes violently when the girl is tossed against it. More words are exchanged, the female giving as good as she gets, and then the man stalks off, leaving her kneeling in the sludge.

Hinata comes to him then, stealing unexpectedly into his fatigued mind. Neji imagines her there on the ground, in this other abused girl's place, and the picture does not sit well with him. After a few very long moments, his cousin fades away, her delicate form returning to the Chinese girl's shuddering one. The pity Neji feels does not dissipate; women, no matter who they are or what their position in the world, were not meant to be handled in this manner.

In front of him, the young woman climbs slowly to her feet. She appears quite dazed, standing in place and staring down at the wet pathway for long heartbeats. He can see her legs trembling; the hand holding her knife is only a little steadier. When she comes back to herself, she wipes the blade off reflexively, and Neji watches with interest as she slips it back into her ripped top, probably tucking it into her waistband. Nimble fingers brush the torn hem almost nostalgically, and then the teenager wipes her muddy hands clean on her relatively dry thighs.

The words leave Neji's mouth before he has a chance to think about them: "Are you all right?"

At the scratchy sound of his voice, the Chinese girl spins quickly around, chocolate eyes wide. Neji notes that she seems surprised to see him there, and the youthful soldier wonders if she had briefly forgotten about him. If so, he really has missed his chance for escape… Busily pondering that implication, his white orbs nearly miss the way the young woman's face changes, emotions flashing quickly across it. Doe eyes fall back toward the ground, and she mutters something that his ears do not catch, presumably telling him that his language is incomprehensible.

_Her pride's hurt… _

_How about the rest of her?_

Neji clears his throat and tries again, this time stumbling over the Mandarin they have conversed in before. _"Ni shenti hao ma?"_

* * *

At the sound of her captive's quiet voice, speaking to her in her own native language, Tenten's mouth falls open in astonishment. It is not the fact that he is conversing with her, for the two of them have done so before, although with very little success. No, the young woman finds herself amazed by the fact that he is asking about her as though he truly cares. While it is probably nothing more than a ploy, some grand design to sound out a weakness, no one has been concerned for her in so long that Tenten's eyes once again grow hot and moist.

The prisoner is still staring at her with those disconcerting orbs of his, silently awaiting an answer.

"I'm fine." Dashing the back of one hand quickly across her dark eyes, dispelling the traitorous tears which had been threatening to fall, Tenten turns away from the curious Japanese man. Lost in thought and feeling increasingly despondent, the teenager does not elaborate further. Her gaze wanders slowly down the winding mountain trail, past the sharp-edged rocks and the shallow puddles that reflect the low grey clouds, to land upon the sodden men gathering in anticipation for her upcoming trial. She makes it a point not to see them, to look beyond.

Far away to the east, along the distant horizon, the thick clouds are just beginning to clear. The empty sky there is a deep indigo color, and the bright form of a waxing moon can be seen slowly rising. Somewhere out on the plains below, unseen from the guerrilla's aerie, a feral dog howls plaintively. The sound creeps up the mountain and echoes eerily in their little valley and, despite the humid air, Tenten shivers at the noise. Canine yowling has long been said to foretell death, and even an educated girl cannot help but believe in old superstitions with the world crumbling around her.

_That's right; it's also the fourth day since I met Neji._

_They are going to find me guilty._

_I really am going to die._

Down the trail, one of the loitering men whistles sharply and beckons to her, angry at being kept waiting.

Tenten turns grimly back toward the ancient cart. Locking eyes with her prisoner, she notes with detachment just how calm he appears. In the back of her mind, she vaguely wonders: does she look as serene? Closing the distance between them easily, she climbs carefully into the back of the contraption. Neji does not resist, and it is but the work of a moment to unbind the rope tying his hands to his feet. She slackens the cord around his ankles, allowing him the freedom to take small, shuffling steps. Then, taking hold of the rope wrapped around his wrists, she helps him down.

The walk down the path toward Tenten's compatriots is short, perhaps less than a hundred yards. It is somehow the longest of her life though, and she fills the time by speaking unceasingly to the man walking slowly along behind her. Neji probably misses most of what she says, but that is matters little. The young woman is just desperate to clear her soul, to earn some absolution before leaving this life and hopefully seeing her family once more. "I'm sorry this had to happen to you. You probably don't deserve this fate. I would let you go if I could. I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

When they come within hearing distance of the milling group of guerillas, Tenten falls silent. Countless angry pairs of eyes turn toward her, all harsh and accusing. She meets their stares steadfastly, but on the inside her empty stomach churns and her heart feels fit to burst out of her heaving chest. Neji moves slightly closer to her form, perhaps growing nervous. Tenten wonders if his father, Hizashi, could have foreseen this on that long ago night when he had saved her from his comrades. Could he have known that she would go on to die with his son, sacrificed at the hands of her own countrymen?

_Goodbye, Uncle Gai. _

_Goodbye, Lee._

_ I wish I had seen you again…_

The muttering guerillas part to let her through, and Tenten walks resolutely into the center of the group, ready to meet her fate. Neji is so close to her now that he is nearly stepping on her heels, tension evident on his handsome features. The men close in around the unfortunate pair, blocking off all routes of escape. They have transformed from reasonable patriots to a bloodthirsty mob all too eager to take revenge for the wrongs done to their nation, to kill a hated Japanese soldier and the strange northern girl who has seemingly collaborated with him.

Tenten turns a complete circle, looking everywhere for the old commander and the promised chance to plead her case. The ancient is nowhere in sight, and neither is his scheming wife Mei. All that can be seen are the pressing bodies and sneering faces of her one-time companions. Tenten realizes then that she and Neji are utterly alone, that no one will be speaking up for her, that there exists no one who cares enough to do so. The small hope she had been unwittingly holding onto flutters away, just like the tiny sparrows had before the storm that morning.

_I should have died long ago._

_Please, let it be quick._

Suddenly, there is a presence at Tenten's back. Something warm and solid presses up against her spine, and she nearly panics, thinking that the attack has begun. Then a long strand of ebony hair falls over her shoulder, and she realizes that Neji has assumed a defensive position, placing his back solidly against her own. Something brushes her hip, and she glances down to see his bound hands open at her side. His head turns slightly, so that his lips are nearly against her ear, and he whispers one word that sends a shiver through her: "Knife."

Tenten understands her captive's mangled speech perfectly. What she does not comprehend is his strange request; what exactly is Neji wanting her to do? Is she supposed to cut him free, and allow him the chance to fight his way out of the mob? Remembering some of his moves from the night he was captured, Tenten thinks that as long as no one is currently carrying a firearm, he might have a decent shot at escaping. Would he take her with him? Was it worth the risk?

Another thought occurs to Tenten: Could Neji be asking her to end his life? She had heard that, when faced with death at the hands of an enemy, the Japanese often chose suicide. Could she do it, kill him quickly and then herself? Before they are both ripped to shreds? Or worse? Her hand slips slowly into her top, and trembling fingertips brushing over the handle of her knife. She needs to hurry and make up her mind, and she needs to act quickly, before the men realize what it is she is up to. Gods, if only she could tell if the guerillas were armed!

Neji's hands bump her hip again, and his fingers wiggle insistently.

Tenten's right hand grabs her knife, readying to pull it from its hiding place.

Chang unexpectedly appears in front of her, and his eyes widen as he guesses at her deadly intent.

The forty men press closer, waiting for something to trigger their frenzy.

_This is it._

_This is the end._

A piercing whistle echoes upward into the small valley and causes everyone to pause in their tracks and glance about in askance. A male voice follows a moment later, singing lustily in an off-key but infectious manner. The song is an old one, popular in this part of the south, about a sentimental young man who is drafted into a distant war and dreams only of returning home to his sweetheart. Because the lyrics are in Cantonese, Tenten misses a few of the words, but she clearly recognizes the deep, irate voice that yells for the singer to shut up.

The one that raises itself in rejoinder is every bit as familiar and infinitely more dear. Tenten strains her ears for the words, but she does not really need to. Around her, the guerillas and Neji are still and silent, listening as well. "Please Brother, don't spoil the ending. It's my favorite part, you know." The eager singing begins again, much closer now, but the men causing such a ruckus are still down the mountain and out of sight. Tenten's heart seems to hammer out the time, beating a wild rhythm that pulls her missing friend and salvation ever closer.

Hao, his older brother Deng, and one other man round a bend and stop short at the chaotic scene in front of them. Hao's happy voice dies away, cutting the song off before the young warrior reaches his long lost lover. After a lengthy moment of staring, he finally finds the will to quietly ask, "What the hell is going on here?"

_To be continued..._


	6. Wicked Companion Invites Us All to Hell

_Naruto _© Masashi Kishimoto.

_Author's note: I am not really satisfied with this chapter, but I owe you guys something for the incredible patience and support you've shown, so here it is. I've also tried a new writing style to show Tenten's mental instability, and I'm not sure how it turned out. Any feedback will be much appreciated. Thanks everyone!_

_The Kuomintang (KMT) are the Nationalist Chinese forces. For anyone who does not know, the Chinese were also engaged in a civil war at this time, the opponents of the KMT and eventual winners being the Communists. Again, I have taken a few liberties with the historical data, and any mistakes are my own._

**The Hardest Journey**

The scene in front of Li Hao is one of madness; twilight has fallen, turning the walls of the canyon a deep indigo and throwing their camp into darkness, but by the light of the thin moon he can clearly see Zhu Tenten and the Japanese prisoner, encircled by their forty odd guerilla companions. The very air is ripe with hostility, filled with a tangibly murderous intent, and he is by no means reassured to see Tenten's knife in her hand, the sharp blade glinting in the dimness. Hao glances around slowly, taking it all in. "What is going on here?"

The words are quietly spoken, barely above a whisper, but the sudden and unexpected appearance of their foraging party has shocked the maddened guerrillas into silence, and so all present hear the question. No answers are forthcoming; most of the men genuinely like Hao, and they respect his honored position as commissariat. To be caught in the act of nearly lynching his best friend, even if she is rumored to be a Japanese sympathizer, leaves them feeling embarrassed, though not necessarily guilty. As the night shadows deepen around them, the soldiers fall slowly back from their intended victims.

* * *

Tenten's shocked, numbed mind struggles to process it all-- Hao has miraculously returned from his mission alive and well, leading his small hunting party and carrying much-needed provisions. This evening the young man who had so recently become her best friend is also her savior; judging by the startled reactions to his arrival and the gradual retreat of her fellow soldiers, she will not be dying here tonight. For some unfathomable reason, the gods are being merciful, and have spared her yet again.

Although she is greatly relieved, Tenten's near-death experience leaves her feeling anxious and ill. Her stomach churns, knotting and clenching in an unfamiliar fashion, while above it her heart continues to flutter like a caged bird, beating so loudly and erratically that she swears everyone present must be able to hear it. The thin hairs on the back of Tenten's neck stand on end, and a strange sort of hyperawareness continues to linger, though only now is she attentive enough to notice it.

_Calm down_, Tenten tells herself. _Hao's back, and you're safe now. This isn't like that other time…_

--The building, once so warm and familiar, now dark and abandoned… A small girl child, crying all alone in the empty training hall… Someone should still have been there, someone should have known that she was coming, should have waited to make sure she escaped the besieged city safely… They should never have left her like that, abandoned her--

_Like these men._

Tenten pushes the troubling thought away. It is in the past and, for the moment, she is protected.

_Just calm down._

Adrenaline fades slowly, and Tenten finds herself suddenly cold, goose bumps breaking out across her tanned skin despite the balmy night air. She is abruptly thankful for the warm presence against her back, the solid one that is the body of her captive charge, the same one that reminds her to keep standing tall despite the fact that her legs have long since turned to rubber. Locking her knees, she swallows the bit of bile that rises and forces herself to gaze unwaveringly at the men who have betrayed her.

_Don't let them know how frightened you were. Don't let them think they scared you, with their threats of death. You're still alive, and he's_ _still alive…_

The Japanese prisoner-- Neji-- has seemingly been saved as well. A flash of light catches her chocolate eyes, and she looks down to find that the filthy hand holding her knife is shaking. Tenten thrusts it back into her torn shirt, disgusted with herself for ever thinking that she could have killed him, an innocent, even as an act of mercy. How could she have so easily lost all hope and abandoned her morals? What would her family say, if they could see her now?

_But they can't see me_, Tenten thinks, and that sharp reminder is her undoing. Her mind goes on, skipping like a scratched record, running over one horrible, broken reminiscence after another. There is no way that her family could observe her actions, for they are dead--

Dead, dead and gone and rotting and she had not done a thing about it, just sat and watched--

_Stop._

Taking a deep breath, Tenten shoves that thought away as well. She needs to focus.

The crowd has eased back now, forming a loose circle around the two victims. Hao slides unmolested through the mass of humanity, comes to stand in the open space just a few feet before her. Ebony eyes-- one still surrounded by a fading purple bruise, courtesy of their detainee-- slide with concern over Tenten's disheveled form. For the first time since she has known him, Hao does not smile at the very sight of her. Instead, he lowers his voice and glances around cautiously before once again meeting her eyes. "Are you all right?"

Tenten wants to tell him no, wants to break down and sob for him and herself and Neji and this entire stupid situation. To do so in front of this watching crowd of wolves would be a grave mistake though, so she swallows hard and resolves to tell her friend and rescuer that she is fine, to casually thank him for showing up. When she opens her mouth, however, no sound comes out; all Tenten feels is an itch in the back of her throat and a hot, unwelcome prickling behind her eyes. She quickly closes her lips, least she somehow embarrass herself.

Hao sees Tenten's hesitation, notes the shiny moisture building in the corners of her eyes. His broad face, which had been carefully set into a hard, stoic mask since his return, softens. With neither thought nor regard for their audience, Hao carelessly drops the burlap bag of rice that he has lugged all the way back from Kaili into the mud at his feet, and takes a step forward, stretching out his good arm to her. "It's okay, Tenten," he whispers, and his voice is very tender. "Everything's going to be all right."

The sight of the bare muscled limb reaching for her, the skin darker than Tenten's own, brings back yet another unwanted memory.

--Three years old, her stubbed toe aching… The nail torn, and bleeding, herself frightened by the sight… A tall man standing there before her, smiling like the sun and with arms stretched wide open… Certainly, if she just goes to those arms, everything will be alright--

"Uncle Gai," Tenten breathes, stepping shakily toward the grinning man. One tear rolls down her cheek, unseen in the darkness, as her hand extends outward--

She never reaches Gai. Someone steps between them, dispelling the image of her loving uncle. Tenten blinks hard, forces herself to pay attention to her surroundings. In front of her is a thin man's back, and beyond that, just Hao. Gai is not there, of course, never had been. What is wrong with her, that she is now unwillingly reflecting upon her past and remembering long-gone people? Tenten tries to tell herself not to worry, that it is nothing more than a response to stress. The frightening fact remains though; she has never before _relived _a memory.

_I wasn't really about to throw myself into Hao's arms in front of everyone._

Tenten glances cautiously around, and is relieved to see that none of the few remaining guerillas is paying her the slightest bit of attention. As she exhales a shaky breath, however, she becomes aware of one particular pair of eyes boring questioningly into her back. Can Neji somehow sense the thin line that she is walking? Is he aware of her slipping sanity, her weakness? Irritated, she squares her shoulders and does her best to ignore him, retreating back inside her thoughts.

_I'm _not_ going crazy._

_Am I?_

"You wanted to know what's going on, Boy? I'll be happy to tell you, but you probably won't like what it is I have to say."

Tenten goes cold at the nasally sounding new voice, looks hard at the narrow back of the man in front of her. Sure enough, her primary enemy Chang is the one who has stepped between Hao and herself, and he is now addressing her friend less than politely. She concentrates on that, feels the anger building-- if it were not for this man, she would not even be in this tragic situation-- allows that budding anger to distract her from dwelling on her precarious mental state.

"Your little girlfriend there has been found guilty of being a damn Jap follower. She's disobeyed orders, interrupted a commanded interrogation, attacked the person leading it--"

Hao's eyes go wide and his eyebrows rise, disappearing into the thick fringe of black hair that hangs down over his broad forehead. His mouth drops open slightly, and he looks over the hunched shoulder of the older man standing before him toward Tenten. There is disbelief written all over his simple, honest features. "Is that true?"

It pains Tenten to know that she has disappointed such a good friend. She tries to speak, to clear up the situation and reassure Hao, but her voice is still gone. Instead, she presses her lips into a thin line and settles for shaking her head, the very movement dizzying in her frail condition. Tenten has no qualms denying Chang's absurd accusations, despite the fact that his description of recent events is technically correct.

_I'm not a traitor._

Chang turns to the side between them, that simple movement allowing him to view both young people at the same time. He grins maliciously, exposing his sharp, stained teeth underneath his broken, disfigured nose. As he rolls his narrow eyes toward Hao, both the young commissariat and Tenten cannot help but think that he looks like a rat. "She's lying, you know. It was me she attacked, vicious little whore…"

Hao makes a fist of his able arm, steps forward and lifts it threateningly under the chin of the other man. "You take that back--"

Chang leans away from the danger, still leering sickeningly at Hao. "I don't know why you're so defensive when it comes to her. If _you_had what she wanted, she wouldn't be helping the Jap there." He tilts his head briefly in Neji's direction, then returns his unwelcome attention to Hao. Holding up both hands in a mock gesture of defeat, he adds, "Face it, she's nothing but a bitch in heat. A cheap, guilty slut."

Their enthusiastic audience-- mostly the small, stalwart group of men who had not retreated at Hao's earlier return, plus one or two had found their way back in anticipation of a fight-- chuckle loudly and murmur amongst themselves. Their lewd, hurtful comments reach Tenten's ears, but she wraps herself in her dignity and ignores them as best she can. Hao, however, has had enough of everyone degrading Tenten's character and, by extension, his own. Heedless of his unhealed injuries, he readies himself to spring onto Chang--

From somewhere in the gloom behind the group, a deep and cultured voice announces, "I do not remember pronouncing her guilt."

Startled, all present turn as torches flare to life and illuminate the night, banishing the darkness but not the foul nightmare that goes along with it. Standing in the wavering circle of light are three somber-looking people; the elderly commander, his frightened wife Mei, and one young soldier, little more than an a boy armed with a rifle, who had probably alerted them to the disturbance. The trio put Tenten in mind of the _Moirae_ who often appeared in her father's foreign mythology books and, like the Fates, she wonders if they are here to pronounce her doom.

From under thick white brows, the shrewd, dark eyes of the commander meet Tenten's own. It is a first, and her breath catches in her throat; there is no film over those eyes, no milky dimness so common with the elderly. Said eyes are piercing, and Tenten feels as though they are prying down into her very soul, as if they are weighing her deepest thoughts. Too late she remembers her manners, fearfully drops her own gaze and bows low, the world spinning sickeningly around her.

_I have been underestimating this man._

It is the truth. Ever since joining the guerillas a year ago, Tenten had assumed that the ancient was barely more than an advisor, an arbitrator of the disputes that sometimes occurred between the men. She had given him precious little credit for his wisdom, seeing instead only a doddering old man being waited upon by his younger wife. Bowing and scraping had been more in response to his age than out of any sort of respect he commanded. But all of that was before he had looked at her. Now, she knows it; this man is cunning.

_Whose side will he take?_

_Mine? Or Chang's?_

Heartbeats later, when Tenten finally gathers her courage and peeks upward through her dark bangs, the old man has moved on, his penetrating eyes alighting upon someone else. She takes that as a promising sign, is thankful for the reprieve. Exhaling a small sigh of relief, she straightens her exhausted body and swallows past the lump in her throat, before turning slowly around to see who the new victim is. What she observes is not comforting.

"Li Hao. You have returned."

Hao meets the old commander's gaze steadily, and holds it. Tenten worries that his stare may be taken for disrespect rather than the frankness it really is, but Hao himself seems to have no such compunctions. He stands tall and firm, taking his position seriously, with none of the usual playfulness upon his face. Of course, tonight has been less than cheery, and the strain is beginning to show on all of them. Hao bows once more.

"Yes, Honored Leader. We were fortune enough to come by the provisions you requested."

The old man clears his throat and glances slyly at the ground. "Indeed. Is that--" he points one gnarled index finger-- "our much needed rice?"

Hao's ebony eyes follow the older man's digit, and a sheepish smile steals over his face. Quickly, he kneels and scoops up the forgotten burlap bag, attempts to shake the mud from it with his good hand whilst bowing repeatedly in apology. Inside, the dry grains rattle reassuringly, proving they are still good. At the sound, everyone within hearing range can feel their mouths' begin to water, and Tenten counts this as one more small miracle.

Behind them, Chang is less than pleased. He begins to pace back and forth, feet squelching loudly in the mud, drawing the attentions of his comrades. His outraged stage whisper slices through the temperate air, disrupting the spell caused by the rice and inflaming the tensions again. "That's it? They're gone for days and all they bring back is one fucking bag of food?"

Forty voices begin to murmur at once, and the sound is like that of crickets in the night. One sack of rice between them all will not go very far.

Hao's face hardens, but with force of will he does not turn and acknowledge Chang or the mob. Gritting his teeth, he explains quietly, "Well, it isn't the _only_ bag, Honorable Commander."

Back at the trailhead, Li Deng casually lifts his two sacks as if to illustrate the truth of his younger brother's words. There is another man with him in the dark, the third and final member of their returned foraging party, but he does not speak or move. In the gloom, they cannot tell whether he has food with him or not, and to the hungry guerillas who have not yet taken sides this is of vital importance.

Their commander asks the pivotal question. "And how much were you able to procure?"

Hao exhales and lowers his eyes, and Tenten's heart aches to see him so shamed. "Just these three bags, Honorable Leader, but--"

The whispers come hard and fast, and drown the rest of his sentence out.

"Three bags?"

"That's all? How are we to live off of that?"

"I can't believe that's all they got…

"Someone else should have gone, someone more experienced…"

"Maybe Chang…"

A smug expression upon his ugly face, Chang comes stalking forward. He has dropped all pretensions and now encourages the rabble directly, regardless of their leader's ever watchful eyes. Leaning close to Hao, he whispers into the younger man's ear, "Just three bags? That's pathetic, and we'll be lucky if you don't get distracted by the little Jap whore there and drop the other two in the mud as well."

Tenten's nails dig little crescent moons into the palms of her hands and she feels one vein begin to throb painfully at her temple. The lump in her throat is suddenly gone, burned away by the searing anger pulsing throughout her body. Her voice returns in a rush, and she finds herself shouting over all present, "Let him finish speaking!"

Although they cannot all be seen in the darkness, every pair of infuriated eyes turns her way, and Tenten is once more the center of attention. Hao gives her one tiny, nervous smile and sidles a step closer to her before turning back to their commander. Taking a deep breath, he continues, "As I was saying, we've brought back three bags of rice, one sack of medicinal supplies, and half a case of ammunition. And we were lucky to even get that much."

The old man nods, accepting the information without comment, and strokes his thin white beard with one wizened, liver-spotted hand. "Continue."

Hao nods, squares his shoulders, and recites the facts as he knows them. "The Kuomintang is struggling to hold onto Kaili. There are Communist troops in the area, and no supplies are supposed to leave the city for fear they will end up in enemy hands. What little we got came from price gouging merchants on the black market, and even then we had to swear that we weren't part of the rebel forces."

"That's it then?" Tenten thinks the voice belongs to Ying, Hao's friend who had been on sentry duty when Neji was first captured, but she cannot be sure. "We won't be able to get provisions anymore?"

Hao shakes his head, messy bangs falling into his eyes. "Not necessarily. One of the merchants I spoke to said there are rumors of a Japanese offensive of in the east, something about a possible attack on our railroads. The Kuomintang is having a hard time mustering the men to deal with something like that. If we were to offer our services, possibly join them, they would be more forthcoming with aid."

Silence falls upon the group. Heretofore, the guerillas have always been their own group, loyal to country and the dream of freedom rather than to any government. The ongoing civil war between the Communists and Nationalists has meant little to them in the face of the huge Japanese advances. For the first time, they are being asked to choose sides, and to do it over something as basic as food. It is more than a little overwhelming.

"So now we're the dogs of the KMT?" Chang asks, spitting upon the ground where Hao had stood just moments ago.

_You've always been a dog_, Tenten thinks, but she says nothing and instead wipes her hands upon her trousers. Her chipped nails have broken the skin on her palms, and the blood keeps welling slowly up. It stings, but not as bad as listening to the idiot before them all.

"I didn't say that," Hao mutters, looking one by one at the silhouettes of his comrades in the dark. " And it wasn't my decision to make. I got us what I could, and came back to report it to all of you." He turns back to the old man before them, and raises his voice. "Our leader should make the decision."

High above them, a thin wisp of cloud obscures the tiny yellow moon. The night, dimmer than ever before, swallows the group up. Despite the warmth of the summer air, Tenten feels a chill steal across her very soul. This evening has already proved to be a turning point for her, and now their chief is contemplating the future of their whole company. Communist or Nationalist? She has the feeling that, no matter what he chooses, they are all doomed.

The cloud passes by, and a small illumination falls upon the ancient commander. From under his thick brows, those unsettling eyes gleam. "We have heard many things about the Japanese offensive, and the operation they have been planning. It seems to me that the intelligence about the railroad could be true. For this reason, and because the Kuomintang _is_ still in power, whatever your political affiliation, we shall head east and protect the railroad as best we can."

At the end of their leader's speech, ripples of quiet applause spread throughout the group, overshadowing the few grumbles from men who do not agree with the decision. One man states that they should turn over their prisoner to the proper authorities within the Nationalist government, and perhaps they could reap some reward in turn? Suddenly reminded of his presence, Tenten glances behind her at the silent, stoic Neji, and wonders if he understands any of what is being said. She hopes that he does not.

The old man closes his eyes, perhaps wearied by the nights events. "We will decide what to do with the prisoner at a later time. He will continue to be guarded by Li Hao and Zhu Tenten. Is that understood?"

Chang's voice rings out loud. "This is bullshit! What has the damn KMT ever done for us? If they ran the country with any success, we wouldn't be overrun with Japs and foreigners in the first place."

Hao's tone is quiet and unchallenging. "The Communists aren't doing a great job of throwing them out either, are they?

Chang whirls upon the younger man, closing the space between them quickly. He leans so close that spittle flies from his lips and lands upon Hao's cheek. "What do you care? You're probably a damn spy for them anyway. A Kuomintang spy and a Jap-sympathizing slut. What a pair! And you boys are going to follow them--"

A crack resounds throughout the canyon as Hao's fist connects with Chang's left cheek, followed by a high-pitched scream of fright from Old Mei. The bag of rice has been dropped once more into the mud at the combatants' feet, and this time a few precious grains have spilled unseen into the muck. Chang ducks out of the way as Hao swings again, nearly stumbling over the sack. "I told you to leave Tenten out of this, you--"

"Hao, stop!" Tenten shouts, not out of a desire to help Chang but as a desperate plea to keep her friend from being injured or getting into further trouble. Neither man listens to her, and they have now moved out of her reach, brawling away into the center of the guerilla group. To help, she would have to abandon Neji's side and push through the mob, putting both him and herself at the mercy of the rabble.

The voices float back to her:

"Truth hurts, huh, Boy?"

"Not as much as you're going to!"

The men join in then, picking sides and calling encouragement.

"Give it to him, Hao!"

"Teach him a lesson Chang!"

"The next person who touches my brother is a dead man!"

"Another damn Jap lover…"

"Everyone, stop!" The voice of the commander, overlaid with the menacing sound of a rifle being cocked, brings the fighting to an abrupt halt. Everyone turns to see the old man hand the gun back to the jittery young soldier standing beside him. "The next person who lifts a hand against one of his comrades will be shot. Now, I have made my decision, and anyone who cannot live with that can-- and should-- leave."

Slowly, the guerillas back away from one another. One man detaches himself from the edge of the group, and walks without haste past Tenten and Neji, heading for the head of the trail that leads east down the mountain. The young woman is disturbed to see that it is Ying, still bruised from his earlier fight against their captive. She wonders if it is Neji, or a hidden political ideal, that is driving him away?

"Goodbye, Girlie."

Something hard bashes Tenten's shoulder from behind, nearly knocking her down. She catches her balance just in time to see Chang stomp by, his face a satisfying mixture of blood and mucus. Hopefully, he has gotten the worst of the fight, but as Hao has not reappeared from the center of the crowd, the anxious Tenten has no way to tell.

_Maybe he's dead. Maybe he saved you and you stood here and did nothing while he fought for you, just like before--_

--Father and Mother and her baby brother… a hole in the garden wall... screams and cries and swords flashing in the night… Father... Mother... run, run, run--

_Hao could be dead, and you _almost_ died, and Chang's just going to stroll away…_

Tenten can bear and has borne much abuse these past few days, but this is something she cannot stand. The man has insulted her friend and savior, and is now being allowed to simply walk away unmolested. Hands clenched, she takes a step after the retreating duo, intent on finally letting Chang have a piece of her mind. As far as she is concerned, he can have it as a parting gift. "Listen, you bast--"

The familiar crack of a rifle and a strong hand around left her wrist stops Tenten's progress, and she whirls around to find the Japanese soldier Neji staring down at her. Glaring daggers at him, she tries to jerk her hand away, but he gives the barest shake of his head and merely clings tighter to her. "Let me go," she hisses, raising her right hand to claw at him. He catches it easily, and then avoids her weak attempt to stomp his toe.

The sound of another shot echoes throughout the canyon, halting their scuffle, and this time Tenten watches over Neji's shoulder as the young boy is knocked backward by the rifle's recoil. She sees the shot stray wide, feels the wind as the bullet whistles past the two of them, much too close for comfort. Neji's grip prevents her from turning around, but she twists her neck and observes with a stoic detachment as the round grazes Chang's arm.

_It's only what you deserve._

A moment later, there is a final crack. Tenten is jerked hard against Neji's solid chest, pulled out of the way of another irresponsible shot. She hears the bullet whiz by her ear, the sound like that of an angry hornet, and knows with a soldier's certainty that she would have been hit otherwise. The thought unnerves her, but she watches unflinchingly as the slug blows a messy hole through Chang's chest, one that is considerably wider than her hand. The man drops to the ground next to his political comrade, Ying, who is every bit as dead.

_So that's how it ends._

_And to think, I was nearly killed too._

Tenten takes her chocolate eyes and her mind off of the bodies. She is surprised to find that she had begun trembling again, shaking like a frightened child. How silly, when she has seen dead bodies and been shot at before! Her right hand is still held tight in Neji's warm grasp, but he has otherwise let her go, leaving her to support her own weight. Never has that seemed like such a task as it does now, and she shakily turns to face him, looks up to meet his white eyes. The world and his face swim strangely before her gaze.

_I nearly died, but he saved me._

_I nearly died, again._

Tenten faints dead away.


	7. Be Afraid Only of Standing Still

_Naruto _© Masashi Kishimoto.

_Author's note: Huge thanks to everyone who waited so long for this, and a special 'thank you' to a fellow researcher whose help was indelible to this chapter- you know who you are._

_For anyone unfamiliar with Chinese writing; the system is not based on any syllabic alphabet, but characters that symbolise certain concepts- people, places, etc. Japan borrowed the Chinese writing method long ago, although they have since adapted it._

**The Hardest Journey**

The moon is full and bright in the darkened sky; it will make it more difficult to cross the open spaces of the city undetected, but the girl is young and inexperienced, and so she moves onward, albeit cautiously down to the water's edge. Crouched there on the bank, partially hidden by an old flat-bottomed boat, she peers across the flowing expanse. Even with light, she cannot see the opposite shore. How far to the other side? How deep? She cannot remember, though she has traveled this way before. Not that it matters; if she is going to escape, she must cross the river.

The craft is heavier than expected, and she has to wade into the chill water and push to get it moving. The resulting splash is loud in the silence of the night; hopefully, she has not attracted the attention of any of the nearby Japanese sentries. Climbing clumsily into the boat, she lies upon the bottom of the craft- it sits very low in the water, and a tiny bit sloshes in between the timbers- and shivers, both from fright and the biting winter air. Will the current carry her to the other side? Will she freeze to death first? Most importantly: Will she get away from the Japanese?

Clouds drift across the moon, turning the world pitch black. There is no sound save for the flowing of water, and the girl begins to relax. Luck seems to be with her, and so she sits up and reaches over the side to help paddle the boat. A moment later, a sneeze tears itself from her, startlingly loud and seeming to echo. Spotlights flare to life on the bank behind her, soldiers can be heard yelling in a language she does not understand, and then the bullets begin whizzing by. A few strike the boat below the water line; the gentle seeping becomes a flood, and suddenly the raft is sinking, and she is drowning-

-drowning, sinking down, down, down… pain, burning pain… pitch black, water everywhere… cannot breathe, so cold…no air-

Chocolate brown eyes snap open to behold the low grey sky; the overhead clouds fill Tenten's vision entirely, appearing close enough to touch. They greatly resemble windblown waves, but the terrified girl does not notice them as she bolts upright and chokes back a scream. She has just a few heartbeats to observe her surroundings- she has been sleeping on the damp floor of the provision cart, encircled by moldy blankets, and the contraption rolls and bumps wildly, just like the river from her nightmare. Her empty stomach rebels, and Tenten crawls hastily to the right side of the vehicle and vomits over the edge.

It seems like a long time, as Tenten hangs her head over the side and coughs and spits again and again. Very little is brought up, just saliva tinged with the tiniest bit of bile- how long has it been since she last ate?- and yet her stomach continues to heave violently. Gripping the roughened timbers with hands that have no strength, Tenten stares at the ground below and the wooden wheels that roll unsteadily over it. Their slow, rhythmic turning does nothing to ease her nausea, so she squeezes her eyes shut. A moment later, the cart hits a rock or a pothole, she cannot tell which, and the resulting violent shudders set her to throwing up once more.

A voice calls out, but Tenten barely hears it and does not register the words. Slowly, and to her everlasting gratitude, the cart comes to a stop. There is a small bumping as someone sets rocks into place before the wheels, ensuring the vehicle does not roll, and then all movement ceases, and the world is blissfully calm. Footsteps approach, sliding quietly through the grass, but Tenten cannot hear them over the still-panicked beating of her heart and the roaring in her ears. The first sound that she truly perceives is her own name, and the hushed voice that speaks it is both longed for and welcome. "Tenten? Tenten, are you all right?"

Gradually, Tenten's eyes slide open and she finds herself staring at Li Hao. The young man is standing a few feet away, just out of reach; he must have learned his lesson, after she nearly gutted him the last time he woke her. There is a rifle clutched awkwardly to his chest, the long barrel resting in the crook of his bent, broken arm. Dazed as she is, Tenten still recognizes it as a Zhongzheng, and she wonders why Hao would have it. That question brings a host of others to the forefront of her mind: Where exactly are they? And when? How long has she been asleep? Are they near the combat zone?

"Tenten? Say something." Hao is watching her closely, his dark eyes alight with concern and possibly some deeper feeling. Tenten has no time to dwell on that, however, for Hao moves closer and she finally gets a good look at him. Her friend's wounds are worse than ever. His thick bangs are mussed, and possibly a little shorter on the left side. There is also a long, ugly scratch running from his hairline around the side of his face to bisect his left eyebrow. It will undoubtedly scar, and Tenten wonders if he was attacked with a knife. With this newest wound added to the sickening mixture of color around his right eye, the knitting split lip, and broken left arm, he looks-

"You look awful," Tenten tells him, bringing up her hand to swipe weakly at the long locks of chestnut hair hanging into her eyes. The appendage feels strange, almost fat and clumsy, and as it passes before her face she notices with surprise that it has been carefully wrapped from wrist to finger tips with clean linen bandages. Glancing at the other hand, still hanging onto the edge of the cart, Tenten perceives that it has received similar treatment. Her boots have also been removed, allowing her feet the welcome chance to breathe, and the bandages around her right foot have been changed. Someone has taken very good care of her while she slept.

Hao looks crestfallen for a moment- he had not counted on being told he looks terrible- but then his natural good humor restores itself and he grins, flashing Tenten a glimpse of bright white teeth. Hiding behind that smile is the memory of finding his friend three nights ago, lying upon the ground as though she were dead, the Jap sitting silently beside her. Fortunately, Tenten had simply fainted, and there was a rifleman close by, to keep an eye upon the barbarian prisoner. Hao does not like to think about what might have happened if the boy had not been there. "Well, you're actually looking a lot better. I think the two-day sleep agreed with you."

Tenten's mouth drops open, forming a little circle of surprise. She cannot believe that she has slept more than a couple of days, rested that long and still awoken feeling so weak. The idea leaves her stunned, and she drops her head feebly onto the arm resting on the side of the cart. Turning her body ever so slightly in an attempt to be more comfortable and to ease the queasiness in her stomach, Tenten gets her first view of the front of the cart. Neji- their captive- is standing there, tied in place between the shafts, his head turned so that he can watch Hao and herself. Even with the poor lighting from the overcast sky, Tenten can see that he does not look well.

That worries Tenten. Ever since Neji had been captured and put under her guard about a week ago- she cannot remember when exactly, as her days are muddled- he had endured a whole host of health problems. Half-starved and severely dehydrated, the young man had suffered a concussion that had probably been made worse through her own hasty and regrettable actions. Then her fellow guerrilla Chang had attempted an interrogation; Tenten was pretty sure he had either bruised or broken some of Neji's ribs. And all of that had occurred before they were nearly murdered. What else had happened to him, after she passed out three nights ago? What other wounds could he be hiding?

The young woman lifts her head again, ignoring the churning of her empty stomach, and turns back to the waiting form of her friend. Her mocha eyes are once again attracted to the rifle in his hands, and Tenten is suddenly all too sure she knows what it is for. A protective urge rises inside of her; Tenten does not know where it comes from- perhaps it is a product of that night she thought they would die together- but she does know that she cannot stand the idea of the weak being forced into labor, enemies or not. Tenten make no attempt to hide the scowl that slides onto her face. "Why is he pulling the cart? He's injured!"

Hao gives a little shrug, but with a broken arm and a gun in his good hand, it is not very expressive. He finds that he cannot understand Tenten's anger. Sure, the Japanese prisoner is in bad shape, but so is just about everyone else that Hao knows. Finding volunteers to pull the cart and its sleeping occupant across the rough, mountainous territory and numerous rivers had proved nearly impossible. His older brother Deng had helped out on some of the worst stretches, but… "There was nothing else I could do. I've only got one good hand right now, and I couldn't leave him in the wagon with you. He's still dangerous, remember?"

Turning her gaze back toward their captive, and observing the alertness still present in his posture, Tenten realizes that Hao has a point. She had observed Neji's fighting style the night he was seized; after spending a part of her childhood in her Uncle Gai's martial arts training hall, Tenten knows deadly techniques when she sees them, and the fluency of Neji's moves had been truly frightening. And he had not even been armed then! Although the young man does not seem to exhibit the suicidal fanaticism of some of his fellow soldiers, he is clearly not afraid of death, either. No, Neji is dangerous, and he always will be.

There is something about that thought that bothers Tenten, some wrongness that she cannot explain. Before she knows it, Neji's form blurs away behind the hot water that rises in her eyes. As the first of her tears begins to slide down her cheek, Tenten drops her face onto the arm resting atop the side of the cart, desperate to hide her uncharacteristic weakness from both men. Hao misunderstands the gesture, and quickly asks her is she is going to be sick again. Tenten lies and nods her head, surreptitiously using the movement to wipe her face upon her sleeve. Taking a few deep breaths, she forces herself to stop crying.

"I'm sorry that you feel unwell, Tenten, but we have to keep moving- I can't even see our rear column anymore. Once we catch up to them, maybe I can get you something to eat; that should help settle your stomach. In the meantime, take this-" Resting the butt of the rifle upon the ground, Hao fumbles at his waist with his good hand, and after a long struggle manages to untie his nearly-full canteen from his belt. The water inside the metal container sloshes gently as he holds it out to his friend, and he smiles reassuringly at the top of her bent chestnut head. "Just take little sips, okay?"

Tenten lifts her face, hoping the she looks more composed than she feels. Taking the canteen from her friend, she unscrews the lid with trembling hands, forces herself to take a small drink. The warm water hits her empty stomach, made more unsettled by the thought of riding in the rickety cart through these mountains, and it is all that she can do to keep from vomiting once again. Closing the flask, Tenten lays it on the floor next to their weapon's cache. Then she puts both hands upon the edge of the cart, and tries to push herself into a standing position. If she can just get out, perhaps she can save them all some trouble. "Thanks, but I'll walk."

"I don't think you should," Hao says, but his suggestion goes unheeded. The determined Tenten makes it to her unsteady feet, pauses to allow the world to stop spinning, and then tries to throw one leg over the side of the cart. The movement knocks her off balance, and she teeters for a second before her wobbly leg gives out and she collapses onto her rear. Her left foot catches awkwardly upon the wooden rim, while her right thigh connects painfully- loudly- with the canteen. As Tenten hisses and grabs at the injury, Hao takes advantage of her momentary distraction to kick the rocks out from in front of the wheels, and the three resume their trek to the southeast.

* * *

Time passes excedingly slowly, the hours a monotonous parade much like the forced march the guerrillas are currently on. The sun remains hidden behind the nimbi, leaving the rolling countryside around the group awash in a leaden palette; Guangxi is supposed to be beautiful- a colorful, subtropical gem- but as the day drags on Tenten finds that it is anything but. Both the temperature and humidity climb steadily, until even the most hardy of the band feel as though they have been thrown into a boiling cauldron. Thunder rumbles away to the east, promising rain, but the longed-for relief never comes...

Prohibited from leaving the cart by her friend Hao, and unsure that she could walk even if she wished to, Tenten is going mad with discomfort. The weather is particularly hard on her; having been born and raised far to the north in a more temperate climate, she is unaccustomed to the way this land of water sucks liquid from a person's body. Sweat pools in the most embarrassing of places, causing her thick tresses and rain-washed clothing to stick to her overheated skin. The sensation is awful, an itching, dirty feeling that Tenten cannot rid herself of, no matter how much of the precious liquid she drinks from Hao's dented canteen.

_I've got to do something. Anything. I'll go crazy if I don't..._

Carefully, Tenten sits up, scooting slowly backward until she is leaning against the locked chest that holds their most important provisions. The condition of her stomach has not improved, despite Hao's earnest promise that water would ease her nausea- if only she could get some food! Fearing another round of puking, she lifts her wrapped hand to her mouth, noting that the appendage feels sodden and wrinkled inside its myriad bandages, almost as if she has spent too much time in the bathtub. Disgusted, she swallows her gorge and proceeds to rip the constricting linen strips from both hands and her right foot, tossing the bindings away into a corner of the cart and reveling in the feeling of air upon the skin.

Much better, Tenten thinks, grabbing the flask and twisting the top off. For the first time in a long while, the action affords her no pain; the splinters have been removed, the hands cleaned and smeared with a healing ointment. Hao had been very kind and thorough to care for her in such a way, and as she drinks down the last of his water, Tenten feels a moment of guilt for being so harsh with him earlier, at least regarding Neji. Her friend had only done what he'd thought was best, given the insane situation. At least he had been strong enough to make a decision, while she had merely been so weak as to pass out...

The cart continues to rumble on, tugged ever onward by their deteriorating prisoner. Tenten reminds herself not to think about Neji, herself, or their sorry physical states. Slowly, her self-loathing begins to disappear, and boredom once again takes its place. An idea occurs to her, something to pass the time, and Tenten sets about looking for her knife. Normally, the implement is hidden in the waistband of her trousers, but it had most likely been moved when she'd been placed into the cart, unconscious. How thoughtful, that her compatriots had attempted to keep her from stabbing herself in her sleep, although Tenten is not sure she cares for the idea of Hao fumbling around under her top.

After a brief search, Tenten finds the absent weapon placed hilt up inside her right boot, the worn footwear less than an arm's length away from the spot in which she reclines. The familiar weight of the knife in her right hand is reassuring, the blade still in impeccable condition. Tenten smiles at the sight of it, this last comforting piece of her far-away childhood, her face reflected in the shinning steel. Momentarily, she is the brightest thing in the undulating hills, the most beautiful creature in the slate-colored countryside. A girl in the bloom of youth, untouched by the constant warfare around her-

Or perhaps not. Anyone who can smile so- at the glimpse of a weapon- is no longer innocent.

Shaking off such woeful thoughts, Tenten lowers the blade until it kisses the wooden floor of the cart; it scores a line there, not deep enough to cause damage to the ancient contraption, but readable none the less. Concentrating hard, for she is out of practice, she lifts the knife and then repeats the action. Again and again Tenten draws, lines intersecting others, spaces sometimes between. Characters form, a little wobbly and nowhere near as beautiful as those she once wrote under her father's watchful eye. Here she has no fine tools, no ink of darkest ebony, no brush made from bamboo and hair clipped from her own head as a newborn. But the characters are there nonetheless, permanent and comprehensible:

_Zhu Tenten. Father._

"I didn't know you could write."

Startled, Tenten jerks, the knife nearly slipping into her thigh. She had been so engrossed in her task that she had not felt the cart slow and stop, had not noticed Hao walk around to the side nearest her and peer over the rails at her handiwork. Tenten takes a moment to lay the weapon down, bladed-edge facing away from the newest rip in her trousers, before turning her full attention to her friend. She regards him warily for a moment, unsure of how much to say. Even now, after all this time spent together, Tenten is not ready to tell Hao the truth about her life prior to the war. "I can't," she fibs. "Not much anyway; just my name, and one or two other characters."

Unable to detect her lie, Hao nods solemnly, impressed. Neither himself nor any member of his family can read or write. This new discovery only serves to confirm what he has already known about Tenten; the young woman is special, and deserves to be taken care of. Grinning, for no greater reason than he always feels very happy around this girl, Hao informs her of the newest developments. "The commander called a halt, seeing as we're all exhausted and so far behind the main body. We get thirty minutes' rest, and then we have to move out again. The Long River is just over those hills- I can fill the canteen, if you need me to."

"That would be good. I'm afraid I drank the last of it a little while ago." Tenten feels slightly embarrassed at her confession- it had not been _her _water to drink, after all- but Hao seems unconcerned. With his good hand, he passes up the Zhongzheng rifle, and Tenten leans over the side in order to grab it halfway down the barrel. Her hand has just wrapped around the warm metal when she pauses, dismayed. On the ground, resting all around the cart and across the narrow path, are her fellow comrades. To a man, they are studiously ignoring her, but memories of the other night are not so easily dismissed. "Hao..."

"It's all right, Tenten. They were lead astray by Chang, and their hatred for _him_," Hao nods his head to the front of the cart, where Neji is leaning back against the railing, unmoving. "The commander has made it clear that he trusts you, and that- politics aside- we are all in this together. They should leave you alone, just like before. Now, are you going to take this gun, or not? It's kind of heavy..."

"Sorry," Tenten murmurs, her chocolate eyes still focused upon the indolent men surrounding her. As the only young woman among them, she has always felt self-conscious, and now she has reason to be wary as well. A practical voice in the back of her mind joins with Hao's query, and she knows that she will be safer with the rifle in hand. Pulling it quickly into the cart, she holds it with practiced ease at shoulder height, turns the muzzle so that it is facing away from them all, and checks the safety twice. Satisfied, Tenten places it next to her knife and hands the battered metal flask down to her friend.

Hao throws her a goofy salute, the canteen nearly bashing him in the head. He jogs off accompanied by three other men, heading in the direction of the nearby river. As they vanish over the closest hilltop, Tenten cannot help but feel truly alone.

"Are you all right?"

For the third time that day, Tenten nearly jumps out of her skin, her hand falling upon the gun beside her in an instant. Directly ahead of her, Neji has twisted partially around and is observing her with his strange eyes. His handsome face and ebony head are all that is visible over the wall of the cart, and it serves to remind Tenten that they are roughly the same height. That distresses her; Tenten had decided that she does not want to dwell on any similarities between them, does not want to think of him at all, if she can help it. As a prisoner, Neji is a lost cause. There is no sense becoming attached to him. "I could ask you the same question."

Neji does not understand Tenten's reply- she mumbles it too fast, and keeps her mocha eyes averted to the floor of the cart and away from him. Pained by her rudeness, anger courses through him. How dare she deny him this one courtesy of words, when he had been the one to first notice that she had awakened earlier and was retching over the side? When he had stopped the cart, and alerted her boyfriend to her condition? Frustrated, he purses his lips and begins to turn away, when his ivory regard catches sight of the characters etched into the planking before her long legs. The first few ideographs are unrecognizable, but the last two-

"_Chichiue_. Father."

Tenten gives a little growl of frustration- why does he insist on talking to her? Unenthusiastic, she lifts her chocolate gaze to find that Neji is not even looking at her. His moon-like eyes are wide, his already wan face bloodless, and he is pointing one long finger at her makeshift handwriting. He gestures thrice with a stabbing motion, obviously eager about something, before repeating his statement both in Japanese and Mandarin. Just as Tenten begins to shake her chestnut head, to prepare herself to turn away and ignore him, his words penetrate her tired brain. An astonished thought forms there: _Neji can read Chinese!_

Before Tenten can question him about this discovery, the sound of shouted instructions and deep laughter interrupts them. Their heads turn in unison toward the left side of the rough earthen path, observing a small group of men who have gathered there. Two men are leaning over the precipice, looking down into the deep, weed-choked ditch that lines the road on that side. One has a short length of rope with a noose tied into the end, while the other carries a _dadao_, a two-and-a-half foot long sword with a wicked edge. As Neji and Tenten watch, the foliage moves and the man with the rope heaves it upward with a loud curse.

"What are they doing? Is there something down there?" Tenten asks in Cantonese, pulling herself up onto her knees and cranning her neck in order to better see. The query is directed at no one in particular, however, Neji must have guessed at her words, for he turns back to her with a grim face and traces a symbol in the air with his fingers. He has to do it twice before he catches her attention, and three more times before Tenten realizes that he is writing the character for 'dog.' She feels a moment of pure excitement as her earlier hypothesis is proved correct; Neji really can read and write her language! They can communicate now!

A heartbeat later, Neji takes the same finger and draws it quickly across his white throat, miming a kill. At the same time, the group next to the ditch pulls up a wriggling ball of dirty fluff, and Tenten turns quickly away, disgusted. She does not blame the men, she cannot, knowing that they are hungry just the same as she is. But Tenten remembers a poor joke she had teased the unaware Neji with earlier, and a little Pekingese that had long ago kept her mother company at home, and she once again feels ill. Ignoring Neji, she claps her hands over her ears and lies back into the cart, curling into a fetal position. Squeezing her eyes shut, Tenten begins to hum a half-forgotten lullaby.

But she cannot quite drown out the screams of the dying animal.

* * *

The smell of cooking rice is what finally persuades Hyuga Neji to open his unusual pearl eyes. He is sitting cross-legged upon the sandy ground between the shafts of the cart, his posture straight. Although he would like nothing better than to rest his weary back, he cannot slump; doing so puts too much pressure upon his bruised ribs. His aching arms are folded over his broad chest, their placement just a little too high to be comfortable. There are thick ropes tied tightly around his wrists, biting into the sensitive flesh there, and they run up to the heavy wooden beams on either side of him with just a bit of slack. It is not the best form of restraint; Neji knows that if he continued to tug, the ropes would come loose sooner or later.

_For all the good it would do me… _Neji reaches up to brush sweat and some clinging ebony strands from his face, feeling irritated by both the high humidity and his body's weakness. His feet have been left unbound to allow him to pull the cart, and while this will make it easy to run if the chance presents itself, he is pretty sure his sorry physical state will not oblige an escape attempt. Add that to the fact that he is in the center of the Chinese camp, surrounded by some forty-odd armed guerrillas and one girl who knows something about his missing father, and Neji knows that his captivity will not be ending any time soon.

_Unless they decide to kill me._

It is not a pleasant thought, this idea that he might expire without completing his only mission in this war. Neji cannot help but brood over the notion; he is normally a calm, self-reliant individual, but being bound like this makes him feel so powerless, almost like being a child again. White eyes darken imperceptibly, almost fading to silver, changing with the anger that flares inside his chest. In a fit, Neji tugs hard against the cords, feeling them slice into his battered skin. Gritting his teeth, he ignores the pain and pulls until his head spins and a vein begins to pound dangerously in his temple. Common sense returns with the first of the crimson drops that spill onto the soft earth beside his knee.

_Think of something else. Not Father..._

_And not this._

Calming, Neji forces himself to observe his surroundings. The province they are marching through has so far proved mountainous- a product of either glaciers that receded long before the founding of this ancient country, or simple groundwater eroding soft limestone- and this area is not an exception. Still, the guerrillas have found a relatively flat spot for their evening camp, safely uphill from two violently converging rivers. It is obvious that their commander is worried about potential flash flooding, and would rather risk being seen by enemy patrols than having his small force drown during the night. Neji cannot say with certainty if it is the right decision, but then again, it is not his to make.

As if the weather can read his thoughts, the thick clouds break and finally allow the sinking sun to make an appearance. The sudden light refracts through the moisture in the air, a prismatic effect, and a banded arc of colors shoots across the sky, disappearing somewhere beyond the edge of the earth. Rays stretch across the fertile green land, casting long shadows and turning the twin rivers a golden hue that complements the display in the atmosphere. Those same beams reflect harshly off the old woman's steaming pot, and the numerous bladed weapons being examined by the most meticulous of the soldiers. And they illuminate-

Zhu Tenten. From the shadow cast by the cart, Neji watches as the light turns her skin a healthy tan and shows a touch of rose in her cheeks. It erases the lingering weariness from her face, almost as if someone has pulled away a mask and revealed the soul beneath. Smiling brilliantly, she takes her bowl of rice from her boyfriend and whispers her thanks, dark eyes sparkling. Her head ducks in a polite bow, one of her newly re-plaited braids slipping over her thin shoulder with the act. The sunlight upon them gives the impression of silken mahogany cords, soft to the touch, and something inside Neji's chest turns over.

As the twilight deepens, the imprisoned Hyuga Neji finally- undeniably- realizes that he is in too deep.

_To be continued..._


	8. Longer the Night, the More Our Dreams

_Naruto _© Masashi Kishimoto.

_Author's notes: I hurried with this, but even so I'm pretty satisfied with the results. Reviews would be much appreciated, but I love you guys no matter what._

_Mitsubishi Zero- a Japanese fighter plane with a fearsome reputation. Used in the Pearl Harbor attack, they were normally carrier-based, save near the end of the war, when they became obsolete and were sometimes used for reconnaissance, training, etc._

_Also, I had a hard time with the one Japanese curse word. Seems there isn't a direct translation out there- I chose the more vulgar of the two I did find for the situation._

**The Hardest Journey**

The setting sun finally breaks from behind the clouds around dinner time, turning the clearing sky aflame with stunning riots of color. While waiting in anticipation for the steaming rice in her hands to cool to a more manageable temperature, Tenten turns her chocolate eyes heavenward. By sheer coincidence, she is just in time to see the long rainbow shimmer into existence, aided by the ever-present moisture in the air. Something about the pretty kaleidoscopic arc makes her smile brightly, and for one brief second she is even willing to forgive Gaungxi province its miserable, perpetual humidity.

Her stomach rumbles loudly, interrupting her fanciful musings, and Tenten glances down at the contents of her plain wooden bowl and decides that she has waited long enough; after all, she cannot remember the last time she had been given any source of nutrition. It had probably been at some point before the group left Guizhou, before she had passed out that fateful night. Lifting the container to her lips, she blows gently upon the rice in a last effort to cool it. The delicious smell wafts upward to her nose, so very enticing, and Tenten's fragile control snaps. She sets to eating like a woman possessed.

After three or so mouthfuls nearly too large to comfortably swallow, Tenten feels the short hairs on the back of her neck prickle, standing on end as though someone is watching her. Lowering the bowl, she glances quickly around the campsite, initially embarrassed by her poor table manners. Her compatriots are all busy with their own tasks; some are laying out worn bedding in preparation for sleep, or checking the readiness of their weapons. Many are still eating, as unaware of the world as she had been. Mei is manning her makeshift kitchen, wiping down the pot with a faded old rag. And Hao-

Hao is far away, somewhere on the western side of the encampment, invisible to her roving eyes. Being the group's Commissariat, he and a few other men have been summoned by their aged commander for a council of war. As is their custom, his older brother Deng must have gone with him, and their combined absences leave Tenten feeling completely isolated, a vulnerable ball of nerves. Although her compatriots have so far done as Hao had said they would, and left her well enough alone, she is still uncomfortable. Since that dark night in the mountains, Tenten still feels as though she cannot trust them.

And she has- stupidly- left the rifle upon the floor of the cart.

With a sigh born of pure exasperation, Tenten subtly glances around once more, seeking the source of her previous uneasiness. When her second visual sweep detects no one nearby, she shakes off the uneasy feeling. Turning her face back toward the beautiful view created by the twin rivers, Tenten resumes scarfing down her much-cooled rice. Unexpectedly, her small nose bumps something cradled amid the white grains, and she feels a moment of excitement- Mei must have added some sort of stir-fried vegetables! Closer inspection, however, reveals it to be a small, carefully portioned piece of meat.

Tenten's appetite vanishes, sinking faster than the sun poised on the horizon. She remembers their leader questioning Hao days ago, knows that her friend had brought back no meat from his provision-seeking trip to Kaili. There is only one place this unidentifiable hunk of flesh could have come from- the small dog that had been pulled from the ditch earlier that afternoon, the one that had reminded Tenten of her mother's faithful Bao-Bao. Revolted, the young woman ignores the practical voice inside her head that says she needs the protein, grabs the offending chunk between two fingers and hurls it upon the ground.

Afraid that her sudden, ill-mannered actions might have drawn unwelcome attention, Tenten's chocolate eyes skim quickly over her assembled compatriots. To her relief, only one person is looking at her, and she realizes with a start that it has been his intense gaze she has felt all along: Hyuga Neji- their Japanese prisoner- sitting bound in the deep purple shadows cast by the large, rickety cart. His quicksilver eyes have faded to a color some shades darker than their usual lunar white, and it is not until he turns those concentrated orbs away that Tenten finds herself able to draw breath again.

Heart thundering inexplicably inside her chest, Tenten quickly drops her eyes to stare hard at the grassy space between her re-booted feet. A cerise flush rises into her cheeks, one that has very little to do with the mortification she feels over the childish deed Neji had seen her commit. A small, exasperated part of Tenten wants to stomp her feet and scream aloud; she had sworn to herself earlier in the day that she would not think of Neji beyond the capacity to which she had been assigned, that they would not bond in any sense. As two people caught in a conflict between their respective nations, how could they?

But that promise had been made before they learned to communicate, before they were nearly murdered together. Before he had given her that one scorching look-

_Stop. Don't think about that._

The sun's waning presence is extinguished by the rolling green mountains to the west, and the ephemeral rainbow disappears as though it had never been there at all. The world is now lit only by the lingering halo of light in the furthest quadrant of the sky. Slowly, the heavens change their raiment to cobalt and indigo, preparing for full dark. Tenten lifts her eyes through sheer will and turns them back toward Neji, ready to deny whatever feelings may have arisen between them. He is not looking at her, though; his eyes have closed in repose and so they do not rival the quarter-full object entering the atmosphere.

Relief washes over Tenten like a wave, muscles that had been unintentionally poised for flight contracting back into more natural positions. Fingers spasm, and she nearly drops the now- cold bowl of rice. Recovering the foodstuff with a minimum of loss, it occurs to her that Neji has probably not eaten in a while. Certainly, she had not seen Hao feed him at any point throughout the day, not that their forced march had given her friend much opportunity. Realizing that the desire she had seen on her captive's handsome face had been for the food he'd observed her eating and not herself, Tenten nearly laughs aloud.

It takes only a moment to cross the twenty or so paces that separate them. Tenten kneels down between the shafts of the cart, careful not to spill the bowl's contents, and places herself directly before Neji. One knee sinks into the soft earth near a suspicious dark blotch- blood from his chafed wrists, soaking slowly into the dirt- but she does not notice. Neji's eyes flutter open, then widen infinitesimally, surprised to find her so close when he had not heard her coming. After his earlier thoughts, her unexplained nearness in unnerving, and the feeling is not alleviated until she holds out the remains of her dinner and asks in Mandarin if he is hungry.

As far as Neji is concerned, the New Years' feasts of his childhood back in Tokyo cannot compare to the simple repast handed him by the Chinese girl.

* * *

The night remains clear, a vast expanse of obsidian that is glittering with stars. Tenten's mocha eyes trace each one, noting the differences in size and color, remembering the ageless constellations with an intensity that she dares not use to recall anything else. It has been said that those patterns reveal Heaven's mandate, showing the past, present, and future if only one is wise enough to interpret them. Lying stretched upon the ground with her head pillowed in her cupped palms, Tenten wonders what the stars say about her, about Neji, Hao, and the whole war that is being played out around them. Is there a future for any of them?

Depressed by her rather sentimental musings, Tenten sighs and rises, turning her steps toward the eastern edge of camp. Passing Hao- wrapped in a blanket and snoring loudly next to their shared rifle- she allows herself a small smile. Upon returning from the war council, her friend had kindly offered to stay awake and guard their prisoner. Having already slept for more than two days, and caused the young man a great deal of difficulty in the process, Tenten thought the proposal was unfair. She had declined, and while she does not regret the decision, she wishes her overactive mind would take a rest.

Why must she be so uneasy?

The warm summer night envelopes Tenten in its welcoming embrace, and the perceived solitude is a calm counterpoint to the smothering circumstances she has lately found herself in. The sound of Hao's somnolence fades with distance, to be slowly replaced with that of rushing water. The jagged edge of the plateau the guerrillas are encamped upon materializes out of the darkness, the land beyond sloping steadily downward toward the merging rivers. Tenten wonders what it would be like, to turn her attention back to the tranquil midnight sky, to keep walking and just leave this mess permanently behind-

The young woman stops at the brink, her body just balanced and the toes of her worn boots hanging over the lip. The night breeze is stronger here; it whips through her thick bangs, mussing them, and Tenten turns widdershins, taking full advantage of the cooling zephyr. Her shifting weight causes a handful of soil to break free from the crest, the loess immediately scattered to the peripatetic winds and the small pebbles tumbling down the hill. They clatter and rattle, pulled inexorably by gravity toward their fate. Tenten pays them no heed, simply watches the moonlit waters swirl rapidly away to the southeast...

Tomorrow the guerrillas are to follow that confluence to the city of Liuzhou, to defend the budding railroads there from the Japanese... Maybe that is what is wrong with her, a case of pre-battle nerves. Such a thing is not uncommon; even the most resilient of warriors, well-trained and mentally inured to the rigors of fighting, can find themselves frightened before a battle. Tenten supposes that such a response is natural, a given reaction any time a life may be lost. But she does not feel terrified now, or even worried. Standing precariously at the edge of the earth, buffeted by the wind, Tenten feels nothing at all-

But that had not been the case earlier that evening, when she had thought _he_ was staring at her. Back then, she had felt anything but numb...

"You're not going to jump, are you?"

Shaking her head in denial, Tenten steps carefully away from both the cliff edge and the sentry who had been so efficiently hidden. A wisp of cloud moves over the moon, momentarily dimming the world to full dark, and the young woman is once more glad of the blackness; the curious man cannot see the frightened look upon her face, cannot confirm his suspicion that she is now not only a crazy traitor, but a suicidal one. Tenten is glad that he cannot view her trembling hands and know just how close her morose thoughts came to pulling her down. Or guess at the shocking realization that had been her saving grace.

Taking a deep breath, the agitated Tenten mumbles some lie about just wanting fresh air and catch a glimpse of the nighttime vista. She hopes that the sentry will just discount her odd behavior as feminine vapidity, and turns sharply on her heel before the suspicious man can ask any further questions. Deciding that she has shirked her guard duty long enough- and with no results to show for it, save an unwelcome, mind-blowing comprehension- she retreats hurriedly back toward the center of their camp, where the cart has been parked and is holding the detained man whom she is supposed to be watching.

Halfway to her destination, Tenten pauses and stands stock still, her adrenaline-enhanced ears catching hold of a strange sound: a deep droning, the noise somewhere between the gurgling of the rivers and the regular rumbling of Hao's snores. Her first thought is that it sounds like a swarm of wasps, and the young woman wonders if the rocks she had carelessly sent plummeting from the cliff might have disturbed a nest. Another moment passes, and the uncanny buzzing grows steadily more strident, but there are no pained screams from the sentry, no horde of vengeful stinging insects rising into the night sky.

_What is that?_

There is one other person awake in the middle of the bivouac- Hyuga Neji. Lying inside the cart, the young soldier has just managed to disentangle his hands from the coarse, imprisoning ropes when the familiar noise reaches his ears. He stands up gingerly, wary of his bruised rib and still bound feet, and turns his ebony head toward the east, watching the heavens with anticipation. Tenten sees him balanced there, his ruined tan uniform and pale skin setting him apart from the darkened sky, a silhouette in reverse. As she stares at Neji, puzzling over his sudden interest in the situation, the sound behind her becomes gradually louder.

Suddenly, the pieces fall into place, and Tenten curses herself both for a fool and for the time she has wasted unmoving; the roaring that fills her ears is undoubtedly a group of airplanes flying a midnight patrol, and most likely Japanese, given the direction they are coming from. Such aircraft tend to cruise at lower altitudes and slower speeds, even in hilly terrain such as this, searching visually for enemies that can be mowed down with the superior firepower of their machine guns. The guerrillas are not equipped to deal with such threats, and Tenten knows that if they are spotted, they will surely be annihilated.

As if nature itself is conspiring against the Chinese, the diminutive cirrus cloud unmasks the pale face of the moon, allowing its soft light to filter once more into their encampment. The illumination is undesirable, and the rest of the sky is disappointingly clear, serving to remind Tenten that her previous good fortune will not repeat itself. The group is in the open, with no cover nearby, and although her comrades have taken pains to remain concealed- there are no fires lit, and all the reflective weapons have been covered with soot- there is no way they can be come invisible. All it will take is for Neji to wave his hands, and they are all dead.

Unseen by Tenten, three yellow-white dots appear on the horizon, swelling quickly in size along with the sound. Behind her, the sentry spots them and sets to a panicked, frenzied screaming, warning everyone in the camp of the approaching doom. Most of her fellows soldiers wake quickly, grabbing weapons and leaping to their feet before realizing what she already knows, that there is no where for them to go. As Tenten breaks into a run- dutifully heading for the cart and desperate to stop the one person capable of betraying them all- her fellow countrymen remember their training and flatten themselves against the ground, hoping to remain unseen.

Hao tries to grab at her ankle as Tenten passes him by, attempting to pull her down to safety. Belly down upon the earth, his leverage is poor, and the determined young woman shakes him off, wrenching her injured right foot in the process. The pain is sharp and immediate, causing Tenten to gasp aloud, but she continues running toward the matte black shape that is the cart with all the speed she can muster, determined to stop Neji, outwit the Japanese, and save her companions.

If she fails, at least _this_ death will have counted for something.

* * *

Neji places his hands carefully upon the side of the cart, judging the distance to the ground. He has made his decision; he will not actively seek to draw the attention of the airplanes speeding toward them- he has no desire to be accidentally shot by his own army, after all, or to see such a fate befall the Chinese girl- but he will gladly use the distraction caused by their presence to escape. All he has to do is leap over the side of the cart and duck beneath the contraption before either the pilots of the airplanes or his Chinese captors notice him. Once hidden, he can untie his feet and wait for just the right moment to disappear into the night.

The planes are clearly visible now, and Neji knows that he must act immediately if he is to keep from being seen. Taking a deep breath and mentally preparing himself for the pain he knows is sure to come, he leans forward-

Beneath his bound feet, the cart sets to a sudden shuddering, the unexpected movement nearly pitching him over the side. Regaining his tenuous balance, Neji twists his ebony head in order to peer over his right shoulder; he does not have time to distinguish the brown blur vaulting over the rear of the vehicle before he is hit hard and sent crashing to the floorboards, both his body and the ancient planking groaning at the impact. Thankfully, his head comes to rest in the pile of stinking blankets, avoiding further damage. Something lands atop him, smashing into his injured rib. The breath leaves his body in a whoosh, neon stars exploding before his eyes.

Someone is screaming near his ear, but Neji cannot make out the words through the torrent that is assaulting his senses- the airplanes are agonizingly loud, and the blood rushing through his head is every bit as deafening. The young soldier tries to cover his ears with his hands, but the appendages will not obey him. Spots continue to dance in his vision, and he blinks them away just as the trio of Mitsubishi Zeros scream overhead, wings emblazoned with the rising sun of the Japanese Empire. As the excruciating pain in his torso fades, he recognizes the Chinese girl- Tenten- her warm, blackened blade pressed dangerously close to the racing pulse in his throat.

"Don't move," Tenten tells him again, using Mandarin. She says something else with words he does not understand- probably that the planes are making another pass- and Neji begins weighing up his options.

Neji's first instinct is to fight, and in a one-on-one match, he has the advantage. His family has always been famous for their martial arts- something he has practiced since childhood- and Judo was compulsory at his private school before it closed down. The Army training has expounded upon both those teachings, leaving him more than capable. Plus, he has a physical advantage: the two of them are of similar height, but Tenten is slightly shorter, and he- thanks to testosterone and better nourishment- is undoubtedly heavier. If he can wrestle her weapon away, and avoid any cheap shots to the ribs, Neji is sure that he can overpower her.

But can he do it without killing the girl?

Doubt sets in as the planes make their second run, passing low over the camp from north to south. It is obvious now that the pilots must have seen some earlier movement, most probably Tenten's hurried scramble to the cart, and they have returned to investigate the sighting. The aircraft fly as slow as is possible without stalling, like hawks upon the wind, peering at the pitch black forms upon the dark ground and struggling to determine if they are natural terrain or something more dangerous. Pressed to the earth, the Chinese guerrillas are preternaturally still and silent- a morbid tableau- hoping to pass for scrub bushes or other foliage. Their lives depend on it.

Neji continues to contemplate the girl frozen atop him. He has seen Tenten fight before during the scrap with the ratlike Chinaman- her moves are not fluid or beautiful, but they are often effective. Moreover, her body language in times of crisis have shown him that her emotions tend to lean toward despair, and people with nothing to lose are always dangerous. She still has not shared that information about his father, knowledge that he needs if he is to continue on his mission to find his missing parent. And the young woman has for the most part been kind to him; it would be a shame if he were forced to kill her, to waste her life and his chance at vital intelligence for the sake of his escape.

Neji decides not to risk a battle. His reasoning tells him that the girl is not about to kill him, as long as he lies still, and that there will be other chances for escape. He should just think of something else...

Their compromising position begins to dawn on him. Tenten has him pinned upon the rough timbers, straddling his waist, her warm weight pressing against his crotch. Her calloused left hand is wrapped around his chafed right wrist, and she struggles to keep that appendage tacked in place above his head. In order to reach, her torso is stretched almost full length against his own, the space between their stomachs a mere hairsbreadth. Neji can feel the bound lumps of her breasts shoved against his own chest, heaving from her prior exertions, but the knife at his throat prevents him from tilting his head low enough to see down her gaping shirt.

There is plenty of skin on display, however; Neji can view the tanned flesh of her leg peeking through the tear in her worn pants. Almost against his will, his left hand- trapped on the floor somewhere between their legs- twitches toward the gap, missing and brushing accidentally against the inside of her thigh. Tenten reacts visibly, mocha eyes widening as she realizes he has a free hand where she does not. The center of her body begins rocking against his as she tries to pin his wandering fingers down with her right knee, and he quickly allows her to do so, anything to stop the torturous stimulation that she is unwittingly putting him through.

Neji closes his eyes, desperate not to see the heavily breathing girl draped across him. Her pretty face- rosy and sunlit as it had been earlier that evening- lingers behind the drawn lids and the mental image does nothing to help the embarrassing erection that begins stirring in his pants. Tenten shifts forward into a kneeling position, probably tilting her head to search sky for the retreating planes, and he feels her warm breath leave his neck, mourns the loss of the pleasurable counterpoint to the knife still lingering there. Neji tries to focus on the weapon and the cruel reality of the situation, unsexy by any means, but his quick mind betrays him, slipping into a memory he would rather have forgotten:

_"A parting gift, o mighty soldier."_

Back in Tokyo, there existed a teahouse that his uncle Hiashi had long frequented. Neji had been introduced to the establishment upon his fifteenth birthday, and met the young _maiko_- apprentice _geisha_- who worked there. Yamanaka Ino had always had an almost unhealthy interest in him, and when she learned that he was to be shipped out, that interest had turned to something else. One night, Ino-san had pulled him away from a party and out into the garden, dragging him to a deserted pavilion. His head swimming with the sake she'd poured him, Neji had not thought to protest. By the time her greedy painted lips were around his member, he could not find the words.

The droning of the planes continues to fade away toward the west, and Neji's sensual remembrance follows suit, having served no purpose save to enhance his already heightened and ignoble senses. His body feels as though it is on fire, thrumming with electricity, and there is now a very noticeable- and slightly painful- bulge in his khaki pants. Pearlescent eyes snap open, worried for Tenten's reaction, but the girl is still leaning forward, her attention focused solely upon the inky atmosphere. She is utterly unaware of his body's base reaction, but she probably will not be for long. Fate has a sick sense of humor, and he cannot help but curse his karma:

"Damn it."

* * *

_"Chikusho."_

Tenten drops her chocolate eyes from the lapis-lazuli panorama stretched overhead to meet the lunar orbs of her captive, and is momentarily unnerved to find herself reflected in that curious monochrome gaze. She is crouched above their detainee, pinning him in place with both hands and one well-placed knee. Her slender arms are beginning to ache with the strain of holding him down, and her right hand- the one holding the knife to the pale column of his throat- starts to tremble. She relaxes her grip slightly, adjusting her sweaty palm around the hilt. Forcing herself to meet his strange eyes, Tenten asks slowly in Mandarin, "What did you say?"

Neji does not answer her, merely gives his head the barest of shakes- Tenten notes that he looks decidedly nervous, or unwell. Perhaps he is angry at being caught in the middle of his escape attempt, or maybe she had injured him during the initial restraint. Whatever the reason, the young woman finds herself once again exasperated by his erratic behavior, and she chooses to ignore him. Pretending that he had never spoken, she glances back to the western horizon. Tenten can still hear the buzzing of the airplanes' engines, although the noise is much reduced now. The craft are invisible among the distant stars.

"They're gone," Tenten murmurs, exhaling a relieved sigh that sets her bangs blowing. Adrenaline begins to fade, leaving in its wake a bone-deep weariness and a throbbing right ankle. Resisting the urge to close her tired eyes, the girl slumps languidly back into her previous position, settling her body atop her captive's lower abdomen, this time closer to his navel. Neji takes her negligible weight with something that sounds like a muffled groan, clenching his jaw and blinking his eyes. Afraid that she has indeed hurt him, Tenten shifts her position slightly, moving in reverse toward his thighs, wiggling away from his cracked rib...

On the other side of camp, the sentry calls out that the sky is clear. Tenten does not relax her guard; until Hao appears to help her once again restrain their prisoner, she cannot.

Scooting backward, her bottom encounters a bump-like obstacle, foreign but not overly alarming. Here in the dark, it could be anything: the buckle of a belt, the discarded ropes from Neji's wrists, or even another of the moldy blankets, the article having somehow become entangled about them during the fall. Tenten does not worry about it, and continues sliding her way south, the maneuver becoming an exercise in flexibility as she struggles to keep his neck within reach. Lying almost flat, her chest presses his again, and she is surprised to find that Neji's heart is racing. Tenten is straddling the lump now, she can scoot no further-

The unseen thing between her legs _twitches_.

Tenten manages to choke back the startled scream that rises in her throat, but the knife falls accidentally from her hand. It slices lightly down the right side of Neji's neck, leaving behind a long, bloodless welt and a thin trail of charcoal before clattering to rest upon the rotting timbers somewhere near his shoulder. Almost immediately, he pulls free of the grip of her other hand, and she sits back, eager to put some distance between them. Comprehension dawns, swift and merciless: _Neji is hard beneath her_. The knowledge sends Tenten's emotions into a whirling maelstrom- she is confused and embarrassed, disgusted and frightened but also somehow perversely thrilled.

In the span of a heartbeat, Neji sullenly jerks his left hand from under her knee and uses it to push his damaged body into a sitting position. The movement dislodges Tenten, leaves the ruffled young woman sitting astride his strong thighs with the distressing phallic protuberance between them. Her weapon is lost somewhere behind his back, safely away from her reach, and now that his hands are free the only advantage she has is that he cannot run away. Face to face in the dark, the nervous teenagers eye one another warily, two enemies who find themselves suddenly disarmed and too unnerved to fight with hands alone. Another stalemate.

Tenten's bewilderment only grows when Neji's lips sieze her own.

* * *

Attraction alone cannot begin to explain why Neji leans forward and captures the Chinese girl's cerise lips, but as she whimpers and brings her hands up to push lightly against his chest, the young soldier finds himself too distracted to begin psychoanalyzing the reasons. Intoxicated by the soft skin beneath his mouth, the kiss remains firmly insistent, and the ensuing sensations are entrancing. The feelings mesmerize Tenten, as well; after a brief second, her initial hesitation disappears and all her defenses come crumbling down. Wide mahogany eyes fall shut, veiled by her thick lashes, and those moist lips become suddenly pliant, allowing him better access-

"They're coming back!"

"Tenten, where are you?"

"Everybody down!"

Heart thundering inside his chest and blood rushing through his veins, Neji does not hear the terrified shouts of the Chinese rebels, and would not understand them if he did. Still lost in the kiss, one hand comes up to brush at the thick chestnut strands hanging loose beside the girl's ear. Distracted, he does not feel Tenten stiffen, as the screams of her countrymen- and Hao in particular- filter into her lust-numbed mind. They serve as an abrupt reminder of life outside the cart, of the world she lives in. A world at war, where a Chinese girl does not in good conscience allow herself to be kissed by a Japanese boy.

Repulsed by their behavior, Tenten at once shoves hard against him and turns her head to the side, breaking the kiss. Neji's does not catch the message, his eager mouth falling to the sensitive skin of her jawbone, his hand still stroking at her hair. The old familiar anger takes hold then and, balling her slender right hand into a fist, she slugs him hard across the face. The force of the blow knocks his head to the side, and when he turns back to stare at her there is a bright red spot upon his pale cheekbone. Flushed and breathing raggedly, lips swollen and bodies trembling, they regard each other with the same suspicious gaze.

The moment ends when the three Mitsubishi Zeros come screaming back into the camp, this time from the south, their machine guns blazing like lighting in the night. The staccato firing is frienzied but without clear targeting- it is obvious that the pilots are unsure of an actual threat, but are spraying the area just to be safe. Their bullets are deadly just the same, falling like hail across the bivouac. On the ground, two of the guerrillas are hit; one dies instantly, while the other is held down by a nearby comrade, prevented from thrashing and thereby ending the ruse. The man's high-pitched shrieking only adds to the cacophony.

Amorous thoughts forgotten, Neji bucks Tenten off him. As the first of the rounds buries itself in the decrepit bulk of the cart, sending splinters flying, he throws himself onto her, shielding her with his own body.

_To be continued..._


	9. A Rabbit's Den has Three Openings

_Naruto_ © Masashi Kishimoto.

_Author's notes: Sorry about the long wait between updates- this chapter gave me some trouble. That said, there are no real warnings for it. Enjoy!_

**The Hardest Journey**

The famed karst landscape near the southern city of Liuzhou- so beautiful that it is considered by many Chinese to be a national treasure- is a nightmare in the darkness before dawn.

The waxing moon has set, and so the only illumination comes from the small but numerous twinkling stars and a pink patch of sky that has for some time been haloing the rounded edges of the eastern mountains. For the marching guerillas, footing is treacherous; much of the dirt road they are traveling upon was washed away by a summer flood weeks ago, and all that is left are deep, shadowy ruts and craggy rocks which test the balance of the weary soldiers. A few yards to their left, beyond the occasional scrub or toppled willow trees, the swollen Liu river is a black ribbon that continues to eat away at its friable banks.

Struggling along at the rear of the column, a panting Tenten stumbles over a forlorn, rotting piece of timber and falls to her knees in the soft silt left behind by the retreating floodwaters. The troops have been ordered to remain silent during this march, but the young woman curses inadvertently as the Zhongzheng rifle slips from her sweaty hands and vanishes into the shadows that surround her on every side. Tenten hears the weapon clatter loudly against some sort of debris, the sound momentarily disrupting the croaking of nearby frogs and setting them to hopping. Fortunately, the safety is on and so the gun does not fire.

Enough men have died this night.

From ahead in the gloom comes a familiar voice whispering Cantonese, jabbering ineffectually at someone who does not understand the language and very likely has little desire to do so. "Hang on! Stop! Stop walking, damn it, and help me set this down. Can't you hear? Something's happened back there…" There follows a lengthy moment of silence as the unseen individuals cease their forward progress and situate their burden. Then Li Hao's transgressing voice rings out once more- hopefully there are no enemies nearby to hear- the tone pitched to carry in the stillness of the warm and humid night air. "Tenten? Hey, are you okay?"

_No_, Tenten thinks as her trembling hands slide across the damp and broken earth in a blind search for her dropped weapon. The left palm skims over short, dewy blades of newly sprung grass and a few accompanying weeds before encountering something sharp; the girl jerks backward as if bitten and instinctively brings the stinging appendage to the soothing moisture of her mouth. Closing her mahogany eyes against the threatening tears and sucking gently upon this newest wound, Tenten tastes bitter copper upon her tongue and knows that she is most certainly not all right. Worse, she is not sure she ever will be again.

The events of the past few hours have pushed the already fragile teenager to her breaking point, and Tenten is now overcome with guilt at the deaths of four of her compatriots. Those brave men had been killed when the Japanese fighter planes strafed the guerilla encampment, the attack unintentionally triggered by Tenten herself. The deceased's final, horrific visages linger behind the girl's eyelids; the first man, his body shorn in two by the hail of bullets. The second, head split open like a melon, lying next to a friend who had been shot in the groin and writhed screaming until someone took a knife and put him out of his misery-

- screams and groans, the overpowering roar of the moonlit Zeros, Neji heavy atop her and the cart shuddering beneath as a bullet snaps one axle, splinters flying and _all_ _the_ _blood_-

"Tenten, please answer me! You know I can't leave this Jap alone…"

Hao's worried voice cuts once more through the night and brings with it a sobering dose of sanity. Responding to the sound, clinging to it, Tenten inhales a shaky breath through her nose and forces the haunting memories to the very back of her overburdened mind. Opening her moist eyes and finding that the perilous landscape around her has become only a tad brighter, the emotionally-strained young woman lowers her scratched, aching hand from her dry lips and tentatively resumes her earlier search. Voice quavering a bit- she hopes no one can hear the detested shakiness- Tenten replies, "I dropped the gun. That's all."

Within the span of a heartbeat, the questing fingertips of her right hand brush against the smooth wooden butt of the fallen Zhongzheng; the weapon is lying on its side upon the ground just a few inches ahead of her- how had she missed it before?- and Tenten leans cautiously forward and grasps the rifle with both hands. Wary, she slides them along the metal barrel, carefully checking both the bolt and the safety with well-practiced motions. Satisfied with the gun's settings, Tenten jams the heavy stock into the loose soil beside her knees and uses the weapon like a cane to lever herself slowly back to her exhausted feet.

"Tenten, are you hurt?"

As if on cue, Tenten's sprained ankle chooses that moment to protest the weight being reapplied to it. Still clinging to her makeshift support, she clenches her teeth and doubles over as an agonizing jolt of pain races throughout her already sore body. The young woman squeezes her eyes shut once more- there are no corpses floating behind the lids this time, just an empty expanse of deepest black- and as the first hot tear escapes and traces a wet path down her cheek she reminds herself to keep breathing. After a time, the simple trick works; her racing heart slows and the joint's discomfort gradually fades to a dull, manageable ache.

"_Daijobu desu ka?"_

Tenten jerks in surprise at this newest voice and straightens fully, spreading her stance and hefting the rifle as a barrier between herself and the man who has just spoken. This movement to defend herself is pure impulse; she is not really frightened of Neji and had known that he was lurking ahead in the night's ebony depths, forced into helping Hao carry the locked trunk that acts as their weapons cache. But the young woman had never expected him to talk directly to her, especially when there was a chance at being overheard, and she wonders with a touch of panic what Hao thinks of their sudden verbal intimacy.

"Hey, keep your mouth shut. Don't you dare speak to her!"

Neji's scornful reply is incomprehensible to both of the Chinese teenagers, but Hao recognizes an insult when he hears one and immediately lets fly with a rejoinder that is crude beyond anything Tenten had thought the polite young man capable of. This reply does nothing end their disagreement; Cantonese and Japanese are hurled back and forth, the languages overlapping rather harshly at times and making the girl's head pound. A thump joins the cacophony as Hao angrily bangs his able hand upon the lid of the wooden trunk in anger, and suddenly Tenten worries that the heated exchange will become physical.

"Be quiet, both of you! Our orders were to remain silent, and you're trying to get us killed! Hao, whatever it was he said to me doesn't matter- it isn't like I can even understand it. And I'm fine, I promise you. I just tripped and… dropped the gun," Tenten repeats, her voice falling to a whisper that is nearly drowned out by the humming of cicadas. The weak finish is a result of the young woman being unwilling to discuss the tenuous mental state the deaths of their fellow guerillas have left her in. Also, there is one other thing she feels remorse over, an inappropriate incident that she prays none of her countrymen ever become aware of…

The kiss Neji had given her had been_ wrong_- a betrayal of her noble, deceased family and the stringent values they had taught her, an insult to her fellow guerillas, and quite possibly treason towards her shattered country- and yet it had felt so very good at the time, had almost allowed her to forget about every little messed up thing in this world. What is wrong with her, that she had enjoyed something so morally reprehensible? Remembering the intense and slightly frightening sensation, Tenten places the dirt-smudged pads of two fingers wonderingly to her cerise lips and vows that such perfidy will never happen again.

The first timid chirpings announce the awakening of the local birds, pulling Tenten from her reverie. Out on the horizon, the sun ascends amidst the undulating peaks and turns the lush scenery into a treasure trove of gem-like colors; the mountains themselves become a deep emerald that contrasts beautifully with the rose quartz and aquamarine of the sky above, while the verdant leas and rice paddies turn into precious jade. The Liu River is topaz- a sign of flooding upstream, but neither the awed Tenten nor her two male companions know this- and it shimmers like pyrite where the sunlight touches the numerous small waves.

Casting practicality aside, Tenten thinks that the dangers of the darkness were almost worth the halcyon view before her. Slinging the rifle easily over her shoulder and tightening the fraying strap so that it lays more comfortably across her chest, she turns to look toward the southeast for the city of Liuzhou. This movement causes the toe of her overly large boot to connect with something. Dropping her gaze, the young woman notes a jagged reddish object half-buried in the dirt and realizes it is most likely what she had cut her hand upon. Curious, she peers closer and counts perhaps a dozen similar pieces strewn in the vicinity-

Despite the rising heat of the new morning, Tenten shivers. She is standing in the remains of someone's home, small adobe roofing tiles and other detritus likely having been washed into the ruins of the road, forming a haphazard fairy ring around her. The girl tries not to feel superstitious about this particular occurence, but the destruction is the first glimpse of civilization she has seen in some time, and she cannot help but find it unnerving. Emboldened by the sunlight, Hao calls out to her, warning her that they have once again fallen behind by their comrades, and Tenten steps gingerly out of the razed circle in order to catch up with him.

Lifting her tired eyes from the pitted surface of the path, the teenager glances to the right and notes with worry that both the extensive rice paddies and terraced gardens upon the edges of the mountains have only half a crop standing. Tenten knows that two harvests a year are possible this far south, but she is no farmer and so cannot tell if the populace is in the process of reaping or sowing the various produce. Not that it matters much; although the sun has risen to make labor possible, the colorful fields remain disturbingly unmanned. Where have all the people gone? Have they disappeared because of the flood, or something else?

Still uneasy, Tenten steps closer to the two men for reassurance, moving until she stands right behind them. Hao pays her little attention as he is struggling to lift the heavy trunk with his good right arm, the tanned muscle bulging with the effort. On the opposite side of the case stands Neji, his left hand tied with just a bit of slack to the rusty iron handle. The Japanese prisoner seems little interested in helping his sweating captor with the burden- probably a small attempt at revenge- but then his strange white eyes meet Tenten's disapproving mocha ones and he gives the slightest smirk before raising his end in preparation for the trek ahead.

The boom of artillery cuts through the stillness of the morning, the sound echoing loudly against the mountains and rumbling like incrongruous thunder throughout the fertile river valley. A flock of frightened birds bursts from a nearby fruit tree and takes wing, soaring away from the alien, manmade threat. Ignoring the avian escape, three brunet heads turn in unison to look at a distant smudge on the horizon that must be their target city. As they watch, a thin grey wisp that can only be smoke rises above it into the pale blue sky, further evidence that the battle for Liuzhou and its new railways is most likely already underway.

* * *

The inharmonious trio stumbles to the outskirts of the besieged city by midmorning. The air is foggy with smoke and ripe with the stench of death, a miasma that chokes the lungs and prohibits view of the famed pagodas and other classical architecture. Japanese howitzers fire continuously, huge shells raining down like a destructive hailstorm and often igniting whatever they hit. The incessant roar from the big guns is deafening, despite the fact that they are located on the far side of the metropolis, and the shock waves they produce rattle everything from the buildings to the hearts of the few Chinese soldiers entrenched in them.

Rounding a bend in the Liu, Tenten and her sweating, filthy companions find themselves standing before a large stone bridge that crosses the wide river and leads into the city proper. The span is well-constructed and pleasing to the eye, save for the barbed-wire and sandbags that have been laid as deterrents across it, and it is here that they meet up with the rest of the guerillas. The three teens are shocked at what they observe; fatalities and desertions had cut the group's numbers to near thirty, but there are now more than one hundred people of various ethnicities milling about. Though none are wearing military attire, most are armed.

Memories of the last mob she encountered press upon Tenten, and she reaches back a trembling hand to pull the Zhongzheng from its resting place against her spine. Mocha eyes flit first to Hao- his mouth hanging open, gaping at the size of the mixed crowd- and then to Neji. The Japanese man appears as impassive as ever, his body still and his lunar orbs calmly assessing the situation, but Tenten thinks he looks a bit more wan than usual, despite having developed a minor sunburn across his cheeks. She takes it as a sign of stress and is proved right a second later as his free hand twitches toward the rope binding him to the trunk.

"Don't even think about it," Tenten whispers threateningly, removing the safety from the rifle and hoping to forestall any desperate escape attempts. His attention drawn by the sound of her voice, Neji twists his ebony head around to peer at the girl and notes the weapon she has clutched in her small hand. Tenten repeats her order once more in Mandarin, aware that he understands a bit of her first language, and watches with satisfaction as the wandering hand falls back to his side. Then she places one finger to her lips as an indication that he should remain silent, and receives the barest incline of the head as an assent.

As far as strategies go, both teenagers know that this one is not the best. No matter how motionless and quiet Neji continues to be, he can never truly disappear from view; even if some of his more exotic physical traits did not set him apart from those people assembled before them, the stained and wrinkled khaki uniform he wears- recognized and hated across the globe itself- undoubtedly does. It is only a matter of time before someone glances backward toward the trio lingering near the river and notes that one of them does not belong. Very soon, they will realize that Neji is not one of them but the enemy, and then….

Tenten squeezes the gun and, her mind focused on other things, barely notices the feel of the sun-warmed metal beneath her scabbed palm. When that happens- when her countrymen realize that Neji is Japanese- what will she do? The young woman cannot stand the thought of shooting him and ending his life, but that now seems like the most merciful course of action. Certainly doing so would be better than turning him over to whatever tortures her fellow guerillas have planned for him; her conscience would barely have allowed such a thing before, and Tenten knows that she will never have the strength to live with it now.

Not after last night.

Almost immdiately, fate decides to test Tenten's steely resolve. As though awaiting their arrival, a figure with something unidentifiable clutched awkwardly to its chest breaks from the motley group to come striding hurriedly toward the latecomers. Two others turn and follow the first at a more staid pace, and although their movements are strangely handicapped, they remain anonymous to both Tenten and Hao's straining dark orbs. Standing beside them, eyes unblinking and his lips compressed into a narrow line, is Neji; a tickly drop of sweat slides from his hairline and disappears into his collar, and still he is a picture of immobility.

As the unfamiliar triad approaches through the haze, it soon becomes obvious that the first person is indisputably a large man. In Tenten's learned opinion, his size alone makes him a threat, never mind the strange object he is lugging about. Surreptitiously- praying that Hao does not notice and that those coming toward them do not interpret the movement as a threat- the young woman lifts the muzzle of the gun and draws a bead on their captive. She aims for the heart, knowing from previous experience that head shots often prove risky due to the roundness of the cranium, and hopes to make Neji's passing quick and painless-

Hao whirls to face Tenten, coal eyes shinning and excitement evident in every overly dramatic motion he makes with his good arm. "Tenten, it's my brother! It's Deng, he's still okay-"

The bruised young man pauses in his narration, surprised to see his friend standing behind the prisoner with her finger curled about the trigger. Assuming that her edgy state is the product of the night's trauma upon the female mind, Hao steps in front of the gun and gently pushes the barrel down. Tenten chokes back the sob of frustration that rises in her dry throat; with her friend's lithe form stationed between her and Neji, there is absolutely no way that she can follow through with her plan. If Deng is indeed coming to collect their detainee, there is nothing Tenten can do to stop him. Shoulders sagging in defeat, the girl resets the safety and lowers the rifle.

Deng comes to a stop before them, holding their small cauldron in his hands. The big man glances back peevishly at his sluggishly approaching comrades- revealed to be old Mei and a strange girl of the Zhuang minority, her belly rounded by the late stages of pregnancy- before speaking perfunctorily to the two teenagers. "The battle's already begun, and the city is gonna be swarming with Japs soon. The commander says he'd rather not have the women or this barbarian slowing us down, so he sent me scouting while we were waiting on you to catch up with the guns. I've found a place to the west of here that should be relatively safe. Now, let's go."

* * *

The abandoned house that Deng leads them to is perhaps a mile away from the city, perched upon a small hill that is surrounded by fields of waving grain and backed up by the everpresent rolling green mountains. As dwellings go, it is a modest one; constructed of the traditional heavy lumber and sun-baked brick, its tiled roof is low and single-inclined, and has been extended a bit further in the rear to create a small lean-to for storage and livestock. Three wide rooms comprise the structure's inside, a bedroom on each end plus a chamber in the center designed for daily living and the worship of ancestors and field deities.

Hao, his brother, and the two women seem right at home in such surroundings, but Tenten feels off-balance from the moment she walks through the doorway. This building is squalid in comparison to the sprawling complex she grew up in- and strangely unfurnished, save for a long bench with a broken board in the common area - but that is not what the young woman finds so jarring; after spending so long in the wilderness, she realizes that the musty dimness of the home makes her nearly claustrophobic. Moving to the room's only window, Tenten throws open the wooden shutters and revels in the small draft of warm air that enters the home.

Leaning back tiredly against the wall, and feeling the rifle press uncomfortably against her spine, the teenager turns to look at her companions. The two women are talking quietly and peering into one of the bedrooms, probably searching out the most comfortable place for an afternoon nap. Deng has deposited the cauldron in a dusty corner and is telling Hao what the guerillas have learned about the battlefield that Liuzhou has become, and the young man is half-listening as he struggles to tie Neji's restraints to the heavy bench. There is little enough rope; finally, he gives up and just binds the prisoner's hands together in front.

Neji is sitting upon the earthen floor with his legs stretched out in front of him, the scuffed toes of his dirty boots pointing toward the low ceiling. He closes his eyes and reclines carefully in the angle that is formed where the bench meets the wall, mindful of his injured ribs. Observing him, Tenten thinks that the Japanese man seems little perturbed about this newest development. The young woman finds that she cannot blame him; being imprisoned within a decaying, poorly manned farmhouse is certainly better than being left out in the combat theater with a hundred people who wish to murder him. Here- with her- he will be relatively safe.

"Tenten, are you listening?"

At the sound of her name, Tenten startles and lifts her mahogany eyes away from the slumbering form of their captive. She is surprised to find the other four people looking at her, and an embarrassed blush creeps across her cheeks. What must they think of her, zoning out and staring like an idiot at Neji? Can they sense the unsuitable concern that she has for his well-being? Giving a sheepish smile and forcing herself to continue meeting their eyes, the girl mumbles an apology and adds something about being tired, which seems to satisfy most of them. Focusing on her friend, she asks, "What were you saying, Hao?"

Hao does not answer her. The sociable young man is frowning- this action itself a rarity- and under the thick fringe of his messy hair the teenager's coal eyes seem impossibly black. Although she is standing nearly on the other side of the room, Tenten thinks she can see her reflection in those orbs. She knows that she is the sole focus of his thoughts, and this worries the young woman; could her sweet friend finally have realized the sick attraction she feels for Neji? Is he even now starring at her and sorting through the memories, connecting the pieces of her treason in his mind? Does he believe that Chang had been right about her?

Hao starts toward her, moving easily across the uneven floor despite his injuries. Fearing the worst- that her friend has snapped and is about to hurt her- Tenten glances about for help. Neji is still sleeping against the bench, and everyone else seems to have disappeared; Mei and the pregnant girl have slipped into one of the bedrooms, and through the window Tenten catches sight of Deng standing with the weapons cache in the yard and smoking. Swallowing hard, the young woman takes a step away from the wall, shifting her weight to her left foot and clenching her hands in preparation for a fight that she had hoped would never come.

Pausing before Tenten, Hao gives the girl a small smile. She finds this action somewhat reassuring, and manages not to flinch when he reaches out with his healthy arm and wraps his right hand gently around one trembling bicep. Her friend tugs lightly and Tenten follows his lead, ignoring the unwelcome twinge from her ankle and moving to sit cross-legged in the dirt with her back to the wall. She cannot help but feel trapped this way, and her mocha eyes glide restlessly across his figure, still seeking some sort of threat. "We've got to go now, Tenten. Deng says the commander wants you to stay here with the other girls-"

"No!" Tenten's protest is automatic- a vehement reaction to being compared to the two women hiding in the other room- but at least it serves to drive away her fear.

His dark eyes wide at her outburst, Hao slides his hand down Tenten's arm and picks up her left one, untangling it from the angry grip it has on thin material of her trousers. Stroking the dry skin with his thumb in a manner meant to be comforting, he tells her, "Hey, it's not that the old man doesn't trust your skills. He wants you to keep his wife safe, and guard the prisoner, too; we might still need information from him in the future… Anyway, even though we're running a little short on weapons, he says you should keep the rifle here with you. I agree, and I'm gonna leave you my canteen as well. I can always share with my brother."

Tenten drops her head and gives a nod of assent, simply because she does not know what else to do. She does not agree with being left out of combat to serve as a babysitter or hoarding precious resources that should be used to help those on the frontline win battles. And yet, she cannot in good conscience protest either of the orders she has been given. Feeling helpless, the girl turns her gaze away from the entwined hands resting warmly upon her thigh and glances toward Neji. For the briefest moment, Tenten thinks she sees a tell-tale glimmer of white- he is watching them, perhaps- but then she blinks and it is gone.

Hao shifts anxiously and tightens his grip upon her hand, drawing her attention back to him. Tenten straightens her posture just in time to see her good friend lean forward in an attempt to kiss her. Startled, she leans back a bit, but Hao takes no notice and with the wall so close behind her head there is nowhere for the young woman to go. Tenten goes wooden and watches with wide eyes as Hao's chapped lips miss her own dry ones, catching the corner of her mouth and the tan cheek beside it. Realizing his error, the infatuated young man pulls back quickly, his bruised face tinged with a bright pink flush. "I'm sorry."

Her shocked mind busy comparing this unexpected intimacy to the last night's, Tenten says nothing at all. The girl sits dazedly and struggles to comprehend how she has been kissed twice- and by two different men, neither of whom is affianced to her- in less than the span of a day. Gods, her parents would be so ashamed of her behavior…. She barely hears Deng call out to Hao and tell him that they must leave if they are to make their deadline and return to Liuzhou by noon, and it is not until her friend releases her hand to tenderly caress her cheek that Tenten comes back to herself and peers closely at him.

Hao drops said hand to his bent knee and squeezes it, feeling inadequate. He is all too aware that his kiss had been clumsy, and assumes that he has offended Tenten's delicate nature with such a forward gesture. The enamoured young man is desperate to reassure her of his intentions, struggles to find the words to do so. The tip of his tongue slides out, nervously wetting his lips, and he begins speaking from his heart. "I know this isn't normal- there's no third party to help us along, but I understand you're alone in the world and my brother suggested we were old enough to decide for ourselves, so… I want to marry you, Tenten."

Deng calls out to his brother. "Let's go, Hao!"

"When this fight is over, if you'll let me, I'd like to take you away from here. We'll go west- there's no fighting there- and find a nice place to settle down. I'll make sure to keep you safe…"

"Hao, that's…." Tenten trails off, her mind too preoccupied with ruminating to form anything close to coherent speech. As she understands it, her only friend has just put forward a very unexpected and somewhat abnormal proposal. He has just supplied her with a way out of the dismal situation that is this horrble war- something the young woman has been craving since she was eleven years old. Tenten knows that she should be ecstatic at this opportunity, should accept Hao's heartfelt offer and move on with her life. She _knows_ this, so why is she hesitating? Why is she unable to speak that one crucial word of agreement?

Perhaps it is simply because Tenten- struggling for so long just to survive- has never really taken the time to seriously contemplate marriage. Furthermore, the choice of a husband is something that should have fallen to her parents, a decision she would have never have been expected to bother her head about if they had lived. Thinking about it, the girl knows they never would have considered someone of Hao's status for her, but she supposes she can learn to make do with the life of a farmer's wife. Her friend is a good man, and although Tenten does not love him in a romantic sense, she thinks that could change in time...

"Hao, we've got to go! Hurry it up!"

Hao stands abruptly, glancing over his broad shoulder to the open front door. Raising his voice so that Deng can hear it, he begs his brother to wait for just a few more minutes. No answer is forthcoming, and so the young man glances apologetically back at his friend, knowing he has no choice but to leave her now. The girl is still sitting prone upon the floor, obviously overwhelmed by his hasty proposal. Feeling guilty for putting her into such a state, he tells her very softly, "Tenten, I'm really sorry to have surprised you with all of this. You don't have to answer right now. Please just promise me you'll think about it?"

"Hao! Get out here now!"

Deng's angry voice snaps Tenten from her stunned reverie, and she blinks owlishly and tilts her head back to look at Hao. The action causes a few strands of her chestnut hair to snag upon a rough portion of brick, but the young woman ignores the annoying pull and manages a small smile for her good friend. For some inexplicable reason, she is relieved that Hao does not want a firm answer from her at the moment. Maybe if she thinks about the situation a bit more, she can come to terms with whatever is holding her back and move forward toward happiness. Warmth in her voice, Tenten tells him the truth: "Of course I'll consider it."

Hao's smile lights up his whole face, and the ecstatic young man rushes from the home, nearly stumbling upon the raised threshold. He is gone before Tenten can even remind him to be safe.

After the young man's sudden departure, the room seems empty and silent. Bright sunlight streams in through both the open front door and the small window just above Tenten's head, and in this natural spotlight dust motes can be seen waltzing through the early autumn air. The scene would almost be tranquil, save for the ever present pounding of the distant cannons. Letting out a soft sigh, Tenten slips her rifle from its place upon her back and lays it upon the ground beside her. Thus unencumbered, she twists her head and reaches back with both hands to try and free her trapped tresses without undoing the customary chignons.

The delicate task completed, Tenten glances over and catches sight of their captive. All pretense of slumber abandoned, Neji is sitting up in a position similar to her own, and her mocha eyes are immediately drawn his right shirtsleeve. The garment is covered in dried blood near the shoulder- miraculously, the worst wound that either of them had sustained in the night's attack was a rather large splinter- and the girl shakes off the strange feelings that rise unbidden at the sight. Continuing her impromptu observation, Tenten is surprised to find that Neji's handsome face is blank and his pearl eyes are observing her unabashedly.

Suddenly, Tenten recalls seeing those strange orbs cracked open during the interlude with Hao. An embarrassed heat floods her face and she drops her gaze to the floor. How much had Neji seen, and what must he have thought of that awkward display? More importantly, why does she even care? Feeling frustrated and confused, the young woman gives a small growl and seizes a pebble that has been tracked in by someone's footwear. She chucks the small stone with perfect aim at the chest of the staring prisoner, but her sense of satisfaction is short lived as Neji's bound hands come up and easily knock the rock away.

Trapped in a decrepit home with two helpless women and one captive whose limited restraints will allow him to easily wander away if not watched, Tenten know that it is going to be a long day.

_To be continued..._


	10. Good Fortune May Forbode Bad Luck

_Naruto_ © Masashi Kishimoto.

_Author's notes: I had a lot of trouble with this chapter, particularly the descriptions of a writing system I don't use. Also, I've given the ages according to the East Asian practice, in which a person is considered one year old at birth. I apologize for any mistakes._

**The Hardest Journey**

The afternoon sunlight slants under the eaves, streaming in through the narrow open door and lone window to highlight the room's far wall. It changes the exposed brick there to a dull reddish color reminiscent of blood, and in the far shadowed corners that hue transforms to deepest vermillion. In this gloom sits Neji, prone upon the earthen floor next to the broken bench, his arms resting gingerly over his stomach and his lips pursed into a narrow line. His distinctive white eyes are focused upon a forlorn pebble lying in the center of the small room- one that had been batted there by his own bound hands not long ago- but the young soldier barely sees it for the thoughts running rampant inside his head.

_Tenten…_

For some time now, Neji had been silently wondering about the relationship binding his two captors; had they merely been comrades bound together by duty, or was it something more? Were they relatives, friends, or lovers? Some mixture of all? There had been hints, of course- when Tenten had passed out that terrible night back in the mountains, the boy had taken her comatose body and lain her gently inside the rickety cart, carefully bandaging her injuries. Tied to the shafts, Neji had watched the way the young man's large hands had lingered just longer than necessary against the sleeping girl's exposed skin, and he had felt the first stirrings of unease inside his chest

That feeling, however, had been nothing compared to what Neji had experienced not an hour past, when the broken Chinaman had kissed Tenten, pressing his lips clumsily against her own immobile ones. Neji had watched the ordeal with disgust, unable to look away. He had hoped that the young woman would react in much the same manner she had when he himself had been so forward- his cheek still stings, and there is likely a bruise- but she done nothing, merely sat frozen in her spot against the wall. What a shame the rifle at her side had not been bumped and accidentally fired, to finally finish off the love-struck bastard whose arm Neji had broken so many nights ago.

Cursing that luck in particular and his poor fortunes in general, Neji finds himself back where he started- his mind on Tenten. Hearing no sound save distant gunfire and the snoring of the two women in a nearby room, and curious as to her actions, he cuts opalescent his eyes to the right, seeking a quick glimpse of the girl. The action avails him nothing, as a tangle of his long ebony hair hangs in the way, blocking his view. Carefully, trying both to be inconspicuous and mindful of aggravating his wounds, the young man twists his head slightly and finally locates her. What he sees is markedly different from before, when she had caught him staring after that horrible kiss and angrily thrown a rock at him.

Tenten is still sitting motionless in the shade beneath the small window, her knees pulled up to her chest and held loosely in place by her arms. Her mahogany head rests atop the joints, turned at an angle in a vain attempt to make the position more comfortable. Neji can see very little of her face, just the smooth expanse of one tan cheek and a single chocolate eye with its lid resting at half-mast. A few rebellious strands of hair have escaped the confines of her chignons to trail down her back, following the delicate curve of her spine. If he peers through the narrow gap created between her body and the wall, he can just see the stock of the gun she has been left with, the one that keeps him captive.

A moment passes whilst Neji assesses the situation. His restraints are not nearly sufficient; his feet are left entirely free, and the thin ropes cinched around his scabbed wrists would be easily severed by anything with a sharp edge. Lulled by the steady, rhythmic sounds of artillery and the warmth of the afternoon, his single guard is nearly asleep. The only people who might be able to help her in the event of an escape attempt are a wizened crone and pregnant woman. Even with his injuries, it is likely that Neji would be able to stand, hop over the bench in his path and be out the front door before Tenten could bring the rifle to bear or shout for aid. The distance to the city is not a great one; Neji could be back behind his own lines before dark.

The whole plan is beautiful in its simplicity, perfect save for one minor flaw, the realization of which makes Neji frown: _He has no desire to go_.

* * *

Exhausted by the war's ongoing privations and this day's emotionally-charged encounters, Tenten is near to dozing when an unexpected movement from the corner of her eye startles her to full awareness. She lifts her head quickly, the aching muscles in her neck and back protesting sharply at the movement, and twists to face the disturbance. Near the center of the room, only a few paces to her left, Neji has stood up and is now staring down at her, his expression unreadable. Feeling the first prickle of panic- perhaps he is once more endeavoring to flee- Tenten grabs the Zhongzheng from the ground and scrambles to her feet. She takes a step back and brings the weapon to bear. "Stop right there! What are you planning?"

Neji glances briefly toward the gun aimed for his heart, but he does not flinch at the sight and presently his fair regard is returned to Tenten. Her speech had been too rushed for him to comprehend, but the message behind them is all too clear: he has startled her. Regretting that- and desperately needing to speak to her- the young man elects to remain stationary. He instinctively attempts to lift his hands and hold them palms outward to be reassuring, but the gesture ends as a mere shrug of tired shoulders when he feels the familiar pull of his restraints. Swallowing hard against the dryness in his throat, Neji manages to ask the pressing question, _"Benjo wa doko desu ka?"_

Fear slips away at the sound of his cultured voice, to be replaced by the old feeling of irritation; as far as Tenten is concerned, her prisoner has proved to be nothing but trouble today, and the girl has yet to forgive him for his earlier indiscretions. Even so, the rifle's long muzzle dips slowly toward the floor as her brows furrow in consternation; she is certain that she has heard those foreign words before, and perhaps more than once, but her weary mind is unable to recall their meaning. Shaking her head in annoyance and feeling a few more strands of hair slip from her slowly-unraveling buns, Tenten snaps, "I don't know what you're saying! Just sit back down."

Again, Neji cannot make out the hurried words. He finds the vehemence in her tone rather aggravating though, especially in this particular instance; he has used this same phrase with her many times before- at least once a day- and yet Tenten still cannot grasp this most simple concept. Really, if anyone should be upset, it is _him_. For a heartbeat, the young man contemplates just turning and walking away, but the idea of bullet tearing into his flesh stops him. The last thing he needs is another wound. Inhaling a deep, calming breath through his nose, Neji decides to try communicating using simpler words and his elementary Mandarin. "_Mizu. _I… water."

Tenten frowns at his poor grammar and begins glancing about for the canteen Hao had promised to leave them. "You're thirsty?"

"No." Neji gives the smallest shake of his ebony head, clenches his jaw in frustration. He has reached the end of his limited vocabulary, Tenten has yet to catch his meaning, and all the while his situation is growing more pressing. At this rate, the soldier knows that he has no choice but to resort to the same humiliating behavior that rescued has him from this predicament on prior occasions. That, or else he shall be forced to do something that will prove mortifying to the both of them. His mind made up, Neji lifts his pearlescent eyes to the ceiling and, with a soft sigh of resignation, he places his tied hands over his groin in a strange but unmistakable pantomime of the act of urination.

Understanding is immediate. Tenten feels her face heat up, a pink flush blossoming across her cheeks and spreading even to the tops of her ears. Dragging wide chocolate eyes away from the odd spectacle before her, she lifts them just in time to meet Neji's own descending orbs. Somehow, his attention only makes her feel worse and so the young woman looks away. For a long moment, the two embarrassed teenagers merely stand there- Neji staring expectantly at Tenten, and Tenten making a point to keep her gaze trained upon the blank, unthreatening ground- but then a loud snore from one of their companions breaks the silence of the room and sets things in motion.

"It's all right," Tenten murmurs, more to reassure herself of her own problem-solving skills than out of any desire to comfort her prisoner. Neji has provided her with quite the dilemma; with his feet free, she dares not send him outdoors to do his business, and yet she does not want to tell him to turn and relieve himself on one of the walls. Hovel though it is, this building is still someone's home, and to do such a thing would be like an act of desecration. Worse perhaps is the fact that she will be forced to observe him- standing awkwardly in the same room, staring at his back and listening to the sounds- just to make certain he does not slip out through either the door or the window.

Grimacing at this last thought, Tenten slips the Zhongzheng onto her back and strides toward the second, unoccupied bedroom. She makes a wide berth around Neji- on the off chance that this has been nothing more than an act to entice her into dropping her guard- and peeks quickly into the chamber. The room is empty, and her hopes are promptly dashed; there is nothing that can be used as a chamber pot, and another small window prevents her from simply sequestering him inside. Feeling a growing dread, Tenten turns slowly back to the common area, and her eyes alight upon Mei's small cauldron sitting forgotten in the corner nearest the door…

A wry grin comes to her features, as Tenten imagines the cranky old woman learning that a Jap had pissed in her precious cooking pot; a massive coronary would be all too likely a reaction. A few seconds later, that smile disappears as a distinctly uncomfortable Neji calls her name in askance. Glancing at him and exhaling a long-suffering sigh, the young woman silently admits that there really is no hope for the situation- she will be forced to take him outside, and take her chances. Tenten pulls the rifle from her back once more and nods toward the entrance. She gestures with the gun, indicating that Neji should march in front of her, and he obediently falls into place.

* * *

The decrepit lean-to attached to the back of the home had once been used to house some sort of livestock and a small amount of firewood. Both of these have long since disappeared- all that lingers are musky odors, a bit of molding straw, and a few chunks of bark- but the wattle that had protected these things is still standing on three sides. With only one way out, Tenten decides that the gloomy structure will make the perfect bathroom; she will not be able to see what Neji is doing in the dark, and he will not be able to sneak past her and escape. Feeling pleased at her discovery, she points through the gap in the bamboo and reed screen, and Neji darts quickly inside.

_I hope he's nearly peed on himself. It'll serve him right, after what he did this morning…_

Moving off a few paces, Tenten twists her mahogany head around to admire the scenery. To the west, the yard slopes down to golden fields of grain and, in the far distance, the emerald mountains so common to this southern country stand like sentinels. The lawn beneath her feet is clear of debris and the calf-high grass is lush and bright, save for a small patch that had obviously been a garden before being abandoned. On the other side of that is an ancient apple tree, short but with thick foliage and perhaps a basketful of colorful fruit dangling from its branches. Tenten eyes both the food and the cool shadows cast at the base of the trunk with longing, feels her stomach rumble.

As the young woman turns her attention back to the lean-to, she hears a new sound rising over the far-away thumps of the howitzers still bombarding Liuzhou; it is similar to the noise still being made by her stomach, but more constant and unmistakably inorganic, almost like a hum. Tenten has heard it before- only last night, although those events now seem like a lifetime ago- and the same feeling of panic rises inside her chest, setting her heart to racing and making it difficult to breathe. Unconsciously, she tightens her grip upon the Zhongzheng, knuckles turning white as her wide eyes begin scanning the cloudless blue sky above for the incoming airplanes. "Please," she whispers, "let them be American."

The sound becomes louder, a buzzing that reverberates from all around. Tenten cannot tell which direction it originates from, and without that crucial bit of information she has no way of knowing whether the aircraft are friendly or not. She turns a full circle, nearly stumbling on her injured foot, and still she cannot find her target. One rational thought pierces through the haze of her anxiety: she must look very stupid, a Chinese girl standing alone in a ruined farmyard, preparing to confront one of the greatest weapons of the age with only a battered firearm. Anyone with a bit of sense would have already raced for shelter, even if the nearest safe haven had just been converted into an enemy soldier's outhouse.

The droning grows into a roar, a sound so thunderous that it drowns out all others whilst seeming to vibrate within her very bones, and still Tenten cannot see no sign of the approaching planes. Finally, it dawns on her that they must be hidden from view by the bulk of the run-down house, have to be flying in from the Japanese-occupied east. The young woman bolts for the lean-to, running as fast as she can with her wounds and the extra weight of the gun clutched tightly in her hands. The distance is short- no more than a dozen feet, with her path free of obstacles- but she barely makes it; ten huge shadows pass over the frightened guerilla just as she reaches the outbuilding.

Gasping, Tenten collides with the exiting Neji in the doorway, bumping hard into his injured shoulder. Her momentum sends him staggering backward into the darkness at the back of the shelter, grimacing at the waves of pain the impact sends coursing through his body, but he manages to stay on his feet. The same cannot be said for Tenten; with a small cry that goes unheard over the sounds of the withdrawing planes, the girl falls into an undignified heap in the entrance, landing hard on her tailbone. The Zhongzheng tumbles from her hands, dropping to the ground in the cramped space between them. Both teenagers flinch, fearing an accidental shooting, but the rifle does not fire.

Exhaling a sigh of relief, Tenten shifts until she is crouched upon her hands and knees, then uses a nearby bamboo post for aid and pulls herself slowly into a standing position. Adrenaline fades like the noise from the aircraft, leaving her trembling. Slowly, she reaches back and brushes her gritty hands across the seat of her faded trousers, which removes the annoying dirt from her palms but does little to cleanse the garment itself. Knowing that her clothes are beyond saving, the young woman gives up and limps wearily over to the gun. As she bends gingerly to pick it up, a pair of distressed combat boots moves past her in the gloom; Neji is stomping toward the exit. Tenten lets him go, suddenly too exhausted to care.

With shaking hands, Tenten lifts the Zhongzheng carefully from its place in the dirt. She straightens her posture cautiously and holds the weapon out for inspection, staring hard against the room's dimness. The outside of the barrel is a tad dirty, and she has to brush away a few clinging pieces of ancient straw, but otherwise the weapon seems sound. Further examination, done with delicately probing fingers, reveals that the mechanics are also in good working order. Feeling grateful for that bit of luck when so much else has gone wrong, the girl whispers her thanks to no one in particular and straps the rifle to her back. Adjusting the band across her chest, Tenten turns grudgingly around to do her duty and head after Neji-

And stops dead in her tracks, stunned. Although he had been given the most perfect opportunity to escape, her prisoner has not run off; Neji stands silhouetted in the doorway, motionless. His back is turned toward her, and he watches dispassionately as the formation of outbound aircraft streaks across the boundless sky. Tenten observes him thoughtfully, wonders if the young man had been too scared of the planes to make the mad dash that would have given him his freedom. She would not blame him for being fearful- not after being strafed by the Zeros last night- although she doubts that this is the case. Something else is keeping him here with her. Now, if she could only figure out what…

Flying low, the airplanes vanish into the labyrinth of mountain peaks that form the horizon. When the last of the metal birds have disappeared from view, Neji starts as though just remembering Tenten's presence and glances over his shoulder. Searing white eyes meet pensive dark before glancing away dismissively; the exchange lasts only a heartbeat, but afterward the girl finds herself unable even to recall the question she had been puzzling over. Swallowing hard and chalking the strange occurrence up to exhaustion, Tenten shuffles forward until she draws abreast of him in the gap and points to the west. "Were you able to see what kind of planes those were? Did they belong to my side, or yours?"

Neji guesses at the meaning of her words, turning to Tenten and giving a miniscule nod of his ebony head. He opens his mouth to answer her query- feeling confident the girl will understand this time- but a loud and wholly unexpected growl issues from his gut before the first syllable can even fall from his full lips. The young man snaps his jaw shut in dismay, and frowns. Eyes drop to his lean torso and he stares intently, as though he can see through the stained khaki cloth and pale skin beneath to the organ that has betrayed him with its noise. Neji mentally commands it to be silent, but his stomach seems glad to finally have his full attention and lets loose with another obnoxious rumble.

Tenten's belly gives an answering gurgle, and she abruptly remembers the apple tree. Giving the embarrassed Neji a timid smile, she asks, "Are you hungry?"

* * *

A loud crunch awakens Neji from his fitful doze, and he slowly opens his pearlescent eyes to gaze at his companion. Tenten is sitting cross-legged upon the cool earth next to him, her form dappled in shadows cast by the tree canopy spreading above their heads, and is munching contentedly on yet another apple. It is perhaps her fourth of the afternoon, and likely to be too much food for stomachs as shrunken as their own to handle, but he does not have the words to tell her that and so he merely frowns as the girl takes another bite, her eyes closed in bliss. Apparently unnoticed, a shiny trickle of juice runs down her slim wrist and settles to dry in the crook of her arm.

Entranced by the sight, Neji suddenly wonders: if he were to touch his tongue to the warm, sticky skin there, would she taste tart or sweet? Respond with a right hook or apple-flavored kisses of her own? Cursing his vivid imagination and feeling the first unwelcome stirrings in his blood, the young soldier quickly looks away from the tantalizing scene and shifts uncomfortably against the aged trunk. The movement causes his long hair to snag briefly upon the bark and a hard root to dig into his left hip, but the pain is miniscule compared to the other wounds Neji has suffered and merely helps him redirect his thoughts toward things of a less salacious nature.

Eyes alight upon a fallen branch, little more than a thin stick, lying near his feet. Being careful of his tender ribs, Neji leans forward and picks up the misshapen twig, turns it this way and that before pressing one end against his knee and breaking it in two with an air of detached boredom. The snap seems to echo in the stillness of the afternoon, drawing Tenten's attention away from the meager remains of her meal. Chocolate eyes stare in askance at the stub that remains clutched in his hand, but she does not reach over to divest him of the possible weapon. Slowly, so as not to startle the girl, Neji twists to face her and uses the stick like a pencil, scratching words into the dirt between them:

_Father. Dog. Apple._

The characters are poorly scrawled due to his hands still being bound together, slanting strangely and mixed with the detritus of the earth but legible nonetheless. Tenten blinks, astonished by the writing but even more so by the fact that she could so easily have forgotten this discovery, despite everything that has happened since yesterday. She points excitedly to one word after another with the hand holding her apple core, giving their names aloud in Mandarin. Neji must be passing familiar with these, for he nods as if he understands them and then bends to painstakingly write out some new ones while she cranes her head in a vain attempt to see the soil canvas through the fall of his hair.

When Neji moves back, Tenten looks over his work and frowns. He has not stopped at a few unconnected words this time, but written what appears to be a complete sentence using a hodgepodge of her own wonted characters and some foreign symbols. The latter are strange and curling, putting her in mind of earthworms which have dried out and died in the sunshine. Disregarding the odd shapes- they do not seem to be all that vital anyway, appearing to serve as mere connections- she focuses on the more familiar symbols and soon guesses at the meaning of the whole. Lifting her dark eyes from the scribbles to his handsome face, she asks with a hint of trepidation, "You want to know how old I am? My age?"

Neji gives a small nod and waits for her to continue, but Tenten only purses her cerise lips and stares down into her lap. Her hands are lying there, and the fingers of the right one can be seen spinning the apple core in circles, the nervous movement seeming to mimic the thoughts whirling inside her head. Should she give Neji the answer he seeks? Such small talk seems innocent enough in nature- she will not be giving away any information vital to the war effort, will not endanger Hao or their countrymen in any fashion- but the young woman stubbornly reminds herself that any further familiarity with her enemy will do nothing but place her in an untenable position in the future.

Tenten lifts her mahogany head slowly, intending to tell him as much, but one look at Neji's expectant face causes the words die upon her lips. She sighs heavily instead and turns to look out over the overgrown yard, acutely aware that all her attempts to avoid intimacy with this man have failed. Trying to back away from him is like trying to cut water with a sword- impossible. Feeling resigned, Tenten hurls the apple core across the lawn. White eyes follow its speedy progress, watch intently as it bounces once on the roof of the lean-to before rolling down and disappearing into the tall grass, but they are drawn back by the sound of her voice and outstretched hand. "Give me the stick."

Unsure of her words and confused by the girl's sudden actions, Neji hesitates. Tenten repeats her order and wiggles her fingers insistently, in much the same way he had when asking for her knife so many nights ago. Shaking that unwelcome memory off, he passes her the twig and somehow manages not to flinch when her fingers- as warm and tacky as he had imagined- brush his. Swallowing hard, he watches in silence as she quickly scratches out his writing before scrawling a question of her own. A few heartbeats pass while the soldier struggles to recall the meaning of the kanji before him, but then he puts it all together and frowns: _Tenten does not know the year._

The knowledge should not come as a surprise; Neji himself has had a difficult time keeping up with the date since sneaking from his base on this unsanctioned mission to find his father. Between the changing of the seasons and the time he spent unconscious after capture, there is a distinct possibility that his estimate could be off by as much as a month. For someone like Tenten- fighting in dilapidated cities, struggling to survive in the wilds of this huge country- the task of keeping an accurate calendar would be next to unachievable. Pulling their makeshift pen from her hand, Neji writes the date as he knows it, guessing at the month and giving the year according to the near-universally recognized Gregorian system:

_Tenth Month, 1944._

For one brief moment, Tenten is merely stunned by this revelation- she would never have imagined that so much time had passed since being forced to flee her home!- but then her natural pragmatism reasserts itself and the girl begins adding up the years. Reaching a total, the young woman holds up both calloused hands for Neji's inspection, all ten fingers extended. After a second, she squeezes those hands into fists, and when she opens them once more she displays all five fingers on the right but only three on the left. Hoping that she has sufficiently illustrated her point, Tenten tells him slowly, "I was born in the third month of 1927, which makes me eighteen years old. How about you?"

"_Watashi wa juuhachi sai desu."_

"I have no idea what you just said."

Neji sighs quietly, all too aware that this conversation has become much more taxing than he had originally planned. Trying to write while so awkwardly restrained has exhausted him physically; remembering his limited Mandarin and the ancient characters needed to express his thoughts have further wearied his mind. So much work has taken place, and there has been next to no return for his efforts. Certainly, the young man is no closer to the information he so desperately needs, and now it seems he has not the energy to continue seeking it. Giving up on his mission, Neji presses the twig into the soil a final time and sketches his age there for her to see:

_18._

Tenten looks over the numerals and- perhaps sensing his lassitude, or engrossed by ruminations on this latest similarity between them- she makes no comment. With the sudden lack of conversation, the remote howitzers seem to thunder louder than ever, and after a time the girl starts at the noise and turns her attention back east, staring at the smudge on the horizon that is the city of Liuzhou. Neji tosses their makeshift pencil away and follows her chocolate gaze, but he can see nothing of importance and soon gives up looking. Leaning gingerly back against the tree, he rests his hands upon now-quiet stomach and begins contemplating another nap.

Pearlescent eyes flicker up to the verdant canopy and Neji watches in silence as a tiny brown songbird flits among the leaves. A light wind picks up, ghosting across his skin while setting the thinnest branches above to swaying, their ripening red-gold fruits bobbing enticingly. The sights and sensations caused by the draft are interesting, but what truly catches the young soldier's attention is the scent the breeze carries; the acrid odor of smoke serves as another reminder of the battle still being fought, and of his own tenuous existence. Knowing that he could be dead soon, that he can afford to wait no longer, Neji finds the will to reject his fatigue. Gathering his courage, he turns his head and asks, "My father-"

Tenten twists back around to look at him and- consumed by her own fears and thoughts of mortality- holds out a hand to stop his speaking. "It's my turn to ask a question, and I want you to the answer the one from earlier. Those airplanes that flew over a while ago, were they yours, or mine?"

Anger from being cut off causes Neji's jaw to tighten and his head to pound, but he still catches the gist of Tenten's inquiry. For a long moment, he glares petulantly at the girl and debates on whether to say anything at all, but the sight of her pretty face transformed by a mask of anguish softens his resolve; she is tormented too, and though he tries he cannot fault her for those feelings. Inhaling a calming breath through his nose, the young man glances away and attempts to find the words to explain to Tenten that the planes they had seen were neither Chinese nor Japanese, but American bombers forsaking the small airfield near the beleaguered city.

How do you tell someone their cause is lost, get them to abandon all hope? A distressed Neji is saved from that very fate when screams erupt from the farmhouse.

* * *

The first thing Tenten sees upon stumbling through the narrow doorway is Mei. The old woman stands on the far side of the drab common room, her craggy bronzed face streaked with tears. The pregnant girl peeks around the crone's considerable bulk, one small hand pressed to her mouth as if to hold back vomit. Five men are in the center of the chamber; three are standing around looking worried, with two others bent over something resting upon the floor. The group murmurs among themselves until one of those kneeling turns his dark head and catches sight of Tenten lingering in the entranceway. Giving a nudge to his companion, they all fall silent and move slowly back…

Tenten does not see the looks on the battle-weary guerrillas' visages as they stare unabashedly at her, their emotions ranging from pity and sadness to anger and distrust. The young woman does not notice two more grimfaced men enter the building behind her, wrestling her forgotten prisoner between them. She does not hear the trio's scuffle over the sound of her own racing heart, cannot feel the heat of the overcrowded room, the combined pain of her injuries, the weight of the Zhongzheng in her unsteady hands. The only thing Tenten is aware of is the unconscious form of Li Hao laying in the dirt, dark stains spreading across his homespun shirt.

Tenten shuffles forward to the middle of the room, drops to her knees beside her friend. Putting her rifle aside, she hesitantly lifts the ragged hem of Hao's shirt and exposes the taut skin beneath. Chocolate eyes fall unerringly upon his sluggishly seeping wound- the commissariat has been shot in the stomach, the shell's entry point the exact spot his metal canteen would have hung, if the young man had taken it with him. The lower intestines have likely been nicked by the bullet, their contents escaping to slowly poison the rest of the body. Tenten has seen this sort of physical damage many times before, and she knows that it proves fatal without exception.

Tenten lets the shirt fall, lifts blood-stained fingers up to swipe some hair out of her eyes. She takes a shaky breath, knowing there is nothing she can do to save her comrade. Hao might linger for days or perhaps even a week, but in the end he will succumb. The only thing she can hope is to make his passing easier, but they have no medicine to dull the pain and the thought of shooting him as an act of mercy is more than she can handle at the moment. Uncaring of the eyes observing her every move, the girl carefully lifts his head from the floor and settles it across her thighs. With one hand, she gently smoothes the fringe of his black hair from his pale forehead, notes the clamminess of his skin.

"_Li Hao. I'm Li Deng's younger brother. My family were farmers to the north and east of here, but the Japanese burned us out two years ago. And you?"_

Tenten swallows hard, remembering that encounter. She had not been willing to answer that question before, and may not be ready to talk about it now. But it is the only thing she can do for him presently, and so she will tell her story, regardless of the people standing around gawking and whether or not Hao can even hear her. Nervously wetting her lips with her tongue, she glances up at the timbered ceiling and begins in her friend's native Cantonese. "I was born in the ninth day of the third month in the year 1927. My grandparents were less than pleased to discover I was a girl, and they named me- Well, my _real_ name means 'she brings along a baby brother.' My father didn't care."

Eyes still focused upward, Tenten gives a small smile at the thought. "My father didn't care that I was a girl; he loved me anyway, and he called me Tenten."

_To be continued..._


	11. Intermission: Zhu Estate

_Naruto_ © Masashi Kishimoto.

_Author's note: This is the first of a series of chapters− an intermission of sorts− devoted to Tenten's past, which means there will be no Neji. Violence should be expected. _

**The Hardest Journey**

_July 12, 1937_

The plum rains are rolling in. An immense column of pewter clouds stretches across the eastern horizon, lit occasionally from within by jagged bolts of lightning. Thunder accompanies the spectacle, but the rumbling is still so far off that it proves almost imperceptible to the acute ears of Zhu Tenten. Even so, it is obvious that the tempest is headed toward the young girl's hill-top perch; a brisk wind has risen to stir the errant strands from her chignons, and it drives away the muggy heat of the afternoon. The very air seems to dance with electricity. Something about the wildness of the monsoon calls to the child's nature, and she stands and begins moving down the slope for a closer look.

"Miss Tenten!"

At the sound of her nickname, the girl freezes in place the way a deer often will when startled. Holding her breath, she waits in apprehension for the indignant shouts that indicate she has once more been caught playing outside the walls of the family compound. Long minutes pass- measured by the rapid thumping of her heart and the cramping of calf muscles trying to steady her skinny body on the sharp gradient- but no discovery seems to be forthcoming. Tenten exhales in relief and drops back to the ground, effectively vanishing from view in the waist-high grasses that grow on this normally sunny side of the hill. Massaging some life back into her aching legs, she allows herself a smile.

Nothing beats outsmarting Wang Min, her amah.

Chocolate eyes fall upon a bright green grasshopper crawling up the stalk of a spiny weed. Tenten knows that such insects often consume the fields of grain her father's laborers work, leading to famine. Crushing the thing would probably be a help, but her own escape has left the girl feeling merciful and in the end the she decides to let it be. She watches the bug continue to climb and idly wonders what possesses it to make such a gargantuan trek; just as it reaches the fluffy boll at the pinnacle, a strong gust of wind arrives and blows the unfortunate creature away. Thunder booms out overhead, proving the storm is much closer now than it had been, and Tenten begins to question the wisdom of being outdoors.

The child leaps to her feet and spins around to head back up the hill, narrowly avoiding a nasty tumble when a misplaced step sends a rock hurtling downward. Despite bending low and ducking her head against the incline, the fierce wind whips her loose hair forward into her eyes, causing them to sting and water. Pausing in her climb, the girl swats the tresses back with annoyance and blinks the clinging tears away. When her vision is finally restored, Tenten sees something very strange upon the plains to the north: walking along the dirt road that runs between her father's fields and the dull expanse of the Yangtze river is a long line of people, burdened with everything from knapsacks to suitcases to wheelbarrows.

Lightning splits the air behind Tenten, momentarily banishing the shadows that have fallen over the familiar landscape and the odd cavalcade in the distance. The crack of thunder is near-instantaneous, and so close that the girl jumps and fearfully scrambles the rest of the way up the knoll, nearly knocking her head against the granite wall that encloses her home. Placing her palm upon the still-warm stone and regaining a bit of assurance from the feel of it, she wanders the few yards to the gap- an old crack that had been enlarged by an earthquake during her infancy- and ducks inside. Twisting her thin shoulders just right from long habit, she squeezes through and finds herself safely back inside the compound.

Or so she thinks. A hawthorn shrub growing untended against the wall hides the unsightly crevice from the viewpoint of anyone standing inside the garden, providing one last obstacle to the child intent on scurrying back into the house before either the storm or her nanny catches her. Tenten crawls carefully through the thorny branches and bright red fruit on her hands and knees. One barb scratches her cheek, leaving a tell-tale crimson line on her tan skin. Another snags at her hair, and a third grazes her palm as she reaches out and parts the unforgiving foliage. Haste overrules caution, and the girl slides out into the yard without looking, bumping straight into the knees of her amah.

"Well, well. Look what we have here. Sneaking out again, Miss Tenten?"

The child stands slowly and looks up with trepidation into the scowling face of her nursemaid. Wang Min is from one of the northern provinces, tall and still attractive despite being somewhat into her middle years. She has worked loyally and indefatigably for the Zhu family since Tenten's birth a decade ago, and- even with the challenges her unruly charge puts her through almost daily- she fully intends to continue, at least until Tenten is married. Crossing her arms over her ample chest, the woman glances at the threatening sky before returning her attention to the disobedient girl before her. "You know your honored grandfather has forbidden you to play with the farmer's children. What were you doing out there?"

Remembering what she had seen, Tenten rocks back and forth on her heels while the words burst from her in an excited flurry. "I was watching the people on the road! They look like ants!"

"What people are you talking about? No one should be out in this evil weather…" Her face smoothed out of its angry framework by surprise and confusion, Min marches over to the estate's northern wall. Lifting the long skirt of her dress nearly to her knees, she steps onto a conveniently located stone bench without bothering to take her shoes off. Rough hands grip the tiled top of the fence, and the woman pulls herself up until she can peek over the barrier to the dimly lit world beyond. What she sees on the distant path an innumerable column of humanity, overburdened and plodding along despite the danger brewing in the atmosphere is too much like a memory from her own childhood, and it causes her to blanch.

Little Tenten has watched this dexterous performance with wide eyes, her small face displaying an emotion caught somewhere between delight and shock; she has never seen or heard of her decorous nanny acting in such an inappropriate fashion. Now- as her amah climbs heavily down from the wall, eyes unfocused and features gone pale- all the child's earlier fears resurface and she runs to take the woman's trembling hand in her own. Together, they wander through the manicured garden to the great house and take shelter under its wide eaves just as the storm breaks. Raising her voice to be heard above the roar of water cascading from the roof, Tenten asks, "Did you see the people? Who were they?"

The plaintive questions bring Wang Min back to herself. Pursing her lips, she sets to work putting the child back into some semblance of order. Nimble hands pluck leaves and twigs from the girl's mahogany hair, before undoing the falling twin buns and rewinding them tightly to the scalp. A handkerchief is pulled quickly from her sleeve and doused with rainwater; Tenten does her very best to hold still as her face and hands are scrubbed free of dirt, but ends up wriggling like a landed fish as the cloth scours sensitive skin. Min pulls her to a stop and straightens her cotton garments, clucking over a torn seam near the shoulder. Finally, she leans back and looks the little girl over before nodding to herself, satisfied with the results.

Tenten watches as her amah turns and opens the door, motions for her to walk through the portal and into the darkened house beyond. Feeling affronted, the child stands her ground, tiny hands curling into fists. "You didn't answer me."

Wang Min sighs at the girl's accusatory tone and glances back toward the north, almost as though she can see through both the waterfall tumbling from the eaves and the thick garden wall beyond all the way to the road. She takes a steadying breath, shaking off the thought of the poor folk who must be struggling through the deluge before giving the child a push indoors and explaining brusquely, "Those people are refugees, Miss Tenten, evacuating a place of danger. We shall not speak of them again, and you are not to mention them to your parents. Now, we must go inside; your little brother will be waking from his nap soon, and he'll probably be scared of the storm. Go and help your mother with her embroidery."

* * *

_August 15, 1937_

Tenten is wandering the shadowy corridors of her spacious home, bored and rubbing at the red spot on her arm where her mother's Pekingese Bao-Bao had nipped her, when she first hears the voices. There are two of them, obviously male and emanating from the study tucked just around the corner: the familiar angry one she recognizes as her grandsire's, while the more measured tone belongs to her father. Although she cannot understand the words being exchanged, the girl is nonetheless startled by the knowledge that the men are arguing, for her parent has always been a shining example of filial piety. Drawn by the sounds of conflict, Tenten ceases the ministrations to her wounded appendage and rounds the bend to better hear.

" -we leave then the government will seize our lands, or the peasants will wreck our home! I will not see the house I was born in torn down by a rabble!"

"With respect, Father, our tenants would never do such a thing. And even if they did, it will be no worse than what the Japanese will do when they get here."

"Bah, those barbarians will never come this far inland. The military will stop them far from here, and then you will feel stupid for having us abandon our land."

"The military did not stop them forty years ago, did it?"

Tenten had eagerly pressed her ear to the door at the first mention of the Japanese, the unseen bogeymen that have haunted most of her childhood, and now she raises one small hand to stifle the gasp caused by her father's harsh words. Her parent is referring to that _other_ war, the one that had occurred some years before even his own birth. The one that saw their great empire defeated by an upstart eastern nation, that had torn away the client kingdom of Korea and the island of Taiwan. The one grandfather's youngest brother had marched away to fight and never returned from. Out of respect for the old man, it has never been brought up in conversation, and Tenten is shocked that her father would evoke it now.

" -already in Shanghai, and that damned treaty allows them to sail right up the Yangtze for commercial purposes. Why do you think they won't do the same to make war?"

Her sire's logic is cold and brutal, and upon examining the matter from every angle offered by her child's perspective, Tenten can find no grounds to discount the reasoning. Her subsequent conclusion- that the Japanese are indeed likely to invade Jiangsu Province- leaves the girl feeling so frightened and weak that she stupidly allows the door to take her full weight. Inside the study, her grandfather splutters an indignant reply and begins shuffling toward the exit, but Tenten can make out neither the words nor hear the creaking floorboards over the anxious pace of her heart; it comes as a complete surprise when the supportive panel is torn away, sending her tumbling headfirst into room.

There is a startled gasp from her grandfather, and then the only sound in the study is the rhythmic ticking of her father's clock upon the desk in the center of the room. When Tenten finally works up the courage to lift her head, two pairs of dark eyes are staring down at her with consternation. The shame of being caught eavesdropping combines with that of disappointing her father and it all proves overwhelming for the girl; she mumbles an apology and drops her forehead back upon the dusty floor. The move is merely meant to hide her face, but it looks rather like kowtowing. Her grandfather huffs at the display and sweeps from the room, the hem of his robe brushing carelessly over the knuckles of Tenten's left hand.

After a time, Tenten climbs slowly to her feet. Without thinking, she rubs the back of her left hand against her trousers as though it has been soiled, and looks over to her father. Zhu Xue stands with his back to her, staring out the large window that faces the garden; whether this odd neglect of her presence is a sign of worry, or a cleverly devised punishment for her poor behavior, the girl cannot tell. Xue is a man of average height and a little more than thirty, but those years and his scholarly lifestyle have been good to him, and as a result people often assume that he is much younger. Today, however- with the harsh sunlight pouring onto facial features marred by anger and stress- he could just as easily be fifty.

Unnerved by her father's continued silence, Tenten turns her back on the man and walks the few steps to the wall nearest the door. Hanging there is a large, brightly-colored map of the world, longer even than she is tall. The chart had been a gift to Xue some years ago, from a foreigner visiting Nanking University, where he often lectured. The names of the hundreds of nations and great cities are all printed in English, but her father had gone behind and painstakingly written everything in their own language, so that his two children could better understand. Tenten privately considers the resulting marvel to be the family's greatest treasure, worth more than the mines and fields and house and goods added together.

Chocolate eyes alight upon the familiar black dot that is Nanking before following the thick, winding blue line that represents the Yangtze all the way to the Pacific ocean. There, nestled upon the jagged coastline, is another spot. It appears so distant that Tenten has paid little attention to it before, but now she stretches up on tiptoe and reads the two characters that make up its name with the greatest of interest: _Shanghai_. If what her father says is true- and she has never in her years known his word to be anything but- then the terrible Japanese are already ensconced there. Such a notion would be truly frightening, but… "Baba, how far away is Shanghai?"

The sound of his daughter's youthful voice asking a question about the world is music to Xue's ears, and it calms him considerably; this, at least, is a problem he can solve. He crosses the room and comes to a stop next to the child, tilts his head to stare at the map through the roundness of his spectacles. One long finger reaches out to show the girl the scale drawn in the bottom right corner. He explains in detail how it is used to figure distance, before asking Tenten to grab a ruler from a nearby table. Together they measure the space between the cities, and then Xue rolls his warm brown eyes toward the ceiling and does some quick calculations. "Shanghai is about two hundred miles from here."

Tenten's mouth drops open at this information, forming a little circle of surprise. She turns away from the smiling face of her father to gape once more at the colorful cartogram, stretches up onto her tiptoes to trace the vast distance extending between Nanking and Shanghai with tiny fingers. The amazed child has never traveled further than five miles from her hill-top home, and the vague memories of that particular journey are all about exceptional boredom and aching feet; she cannot begin to imagine what a trip of two hundred must be like. Surely it is an impossible distance, too far to travel even with modern technology and the aid of the great river?

Reassured by the knowledge that the Japanese are located in so remote a city, Tenten sinks back onto her heels and grins. She turns her shining face up to her father's, eager for them to share so joyous a moment, but ends up heartily disappointed; Xue is not looking at her, but has instead reoccupied himself with gazing out the window, his visage solemn. Since the girl knows of no lasting way to reclaim her parent from this distraction, she sighs and turns to leave the room. Passing the low wooden desk, her sharp eyes notice a newspaper left lying there. The two day old headline seems to leap out at Tenten, and it quickly begins to undermine her newfound sense of security:

_Kuomintang Army Attacks Japanese in Shanghai!_

* * *

_December 9, 1937_

Dinner that evening is an austere affair, marked alternately by the snappish comments and anxious silences of the three adults and two children seated around the low table. The food in their porcelain bowls is pitiful; a bit of rice, a duck too stringy and old to be flavorful, and a handful of hawthorn berries pulled from the bush in the garden, but it is the best that Cook- their lone remaining servant, now that Xue and the government had succeeded in warning or conscripting away the rest- could scrounge up. The somber scene is lit by a single lantern placed in the center of the tabletop, within easy reach should the flame need to be doused for one of the air raids that have become all too common in the last few weeks.

Perhaps the room's only bright point is youthful Tenten, freshly scrubbed and resplendent in a new pink silk _qipao. _The dress is looser than the fashionable ones worn like second skins by the young women in the city, probably out of deference to her family's conservative nature more than the fact that the girl is still growing, but it is still quite beautiful. Wang Min had finished piecing the garment together before Xue had bribed her to flee to safety, and Tenten's mother- the graceful Maito Nuan- had only yesterday completed it by embroidering the smallest, most exquisite pale blue and lilac flowers onto the shimmering fabric. It had been Nuan who suggested she wear it to this dismal meal.

"You look lovely, dear," Nuan tells the agitated girl sitting next to her, smiling so wide and warmly that her teeth seem to sparkle in the pale light of the lamp. She stares at her daughter for a moment, pleased at the transformation the dress has made, before calmly turning attractive coal eyes toward the head of the table, where Grandfather- his attitude even nastier than usual, due to his fear- is complaining loudly that he cannot chew the meat with his bad teeth. As her sweet mother sets to trying to placate the old man by offering to switch bowls or have the chef come and chop the duck into tinier pieces, Tenten glances across the board to her father.

Xue is stoically consuming his rice, but the fingers wrapped around his chopsticks are white with strain and the utensils are in danger of breaking. It is obvious he blames himself for not standing up to his elderly parent and evacuating them all months ago. Back then, it would have been easy; the vast family fortune, combined with the help of some of her father's foreign acquaintances, would have ensured them a safe place in any of the glamorous cities of the world. Now- with the only radio station broadcasting from Nanking silenced by Japanese bombs, the small towns nearby abandoned and burned, and trenches dug into the earth for miles- Tenten knows they are _completely cut off from it_.

It is a frightening thought, but Tenten does not dwell on it for very long- her little brother is sitting across from her, and he takes the opportunity to open his mouth and show her the disgusting half-masticated food swirling there. "You're a pig, Jaiyi," the girl hisses, her hands bunching into fists below the edge of the gleaming table. The insult is as much about her sibling's physical appearance as his poor manners; at five years old, Jaiyi is still pale and pudgy, and the narrow black eyes staring from his round face do indeed resemble those of a barnyard critter. Tenten thinks she would like to slaughter him, or at least box his ears the way her uncle Maito Gai does to her cousin Lee at least once a sparring match.

"And you're just a girl, Zhaodi," Jaiyi rejoins slyly, hurling one of his remaining hawthorn berries across the table. Tenten dodges the claret fruit with quick reflexes, but the loathsome sound of her given name- an indelible reminder that she is not what the Zhu family patriarch desired eleven years ago, and will never be anything of worth in his eyes proves- impossible to evade. Wounded, the girl blinks back tears of frustration and looks quickly around the dining room for assistance in curbing her brother's poor behavior. None is forthcoming; her mother is still pandering to the whining old man, and her father seems a million miles away. Jaiyi grins triumphantly at her, and shoves his chopsticks so that they are standing straight up in his bowl of rice−

An odd bang echoes from the forward courtyard, where the main gate to the compound has been barred for the evening. The sound startles the family, causing Grandfather to drop his teacup and making all five of them jump in their seats. Conversation ceases instantly, and Tenten twists her head with the others to peer down the dark hallway that leads to the front of the house; when no bogeymen appear from the gloom, she lets out the breath she has been anxiously holding, and glances back at her family. In the soft circle of light cast by the lantern, they look every bit as frightened as she is, but Nuan turns to Xue and whispers tremulously, "Perhaps it was just Cook stepping outside."

As if in rebuttal, the noise comes again, louder this time and immediately followed by a thunderous crack that can only be the splintering of the wooden gate. Suddenly, numerous voices can be heard shouting in a foreign language, and the tramp of heavy boots is audible upon the winding gravel path leading to the front door. Jaiyi whimpers and Nuan gives a startled gasp, throwing her delicate hands up to cover her mouth, but Tenten only sits frozen in her pretty new dress and listens to the sounds of her world crumbling around her. The girl is so intent that she does not hear her father calling her until Xue comes around the table and grabs her by the shoulder. "Tenten, how big is the crack in the wall that you use?"

"The crack?" Tenten echoes, blinking rapidly but feeling as though her brain is working rather slow. The child knows that her father is talking about the hidden gap in the estate's fence, but she cannot figure out why. Surely her parents had not known anything about it? They had known she was breaking out to play, of course, but certainly not _how_… As she struggles to process this surprising revelation, her ears catch the frenzied barking of Bao-Bao in a distant chamber; there is a high-pitched yelp, swiftly cut off, and then a telling silence. Tenten realizes the mean little dog just has been killed, and something about that scares her more than everything that has happened thus far. "The crack…"

"Yes, the one behind the hawthorn bush. How big is it? Large enough for your mother to pass? For your grandfather? Can I squeeze through it?"

Tenten twists her head, peeking over her father's silken-clad arm to the individuals in question. Nuan is tall for a woman, but willowy and endowed with a certain grace of movement. Tenten is certain that both her mother and Jaiyi should be able to crawl to safety. Her grandfather will prove more difficult, despite being the thinnest among them; he has grown stiff and stooped with age, and his wrinkled skin is so frail that she fears the merciless thorns of the shrub will shred it as though it were paper. The girl ponders this last for so long− wondering if the pain the old man will undoubtedly feel means she should discount his ability to escape− that her uncharacteristically impatient father grabs her shoulder and shakes roughly.

Tears pooling in her chocolate eyes, Tenten pulls away from the bruising grip of her parent and manages to stammer the awful truth: "Everyone will fit but you, Baba."

"I'll climb over," Xue replies in a rough whisper, yanking Tenten to her feet. She stands confused and fearful as he snatches the lantern from the center of the table, the sudden movement throwing wild shadows across the pale walls of the dining room. Nuan has already helped her trembling grandfather up, and now she brushes by them, moving quickly around the table that is strewn with the detritus of their meal. Tenten watches with a touch of envy as her mother scoops Jaiyi into her arms and places one hand protectively upon the sniffling boy's head. Resentment gets the better of her, and the child rushes over and grabs ahold of her mother's sleeve as Xue leads the family from the room.

The old house has become the stuff of nightmares. Chambers and corridors, once warm and familiar, now loom unrecognizable in either the tiny glow from the lantern or the darkness that alternately presses down upon them. All around, the family can hear sounds of destruction− the tearing down of delicate hangings, the ripping of elegant bedspreads, the shattering of vases and splintering of fragile wooden furniture that is decades, even centuries old. These horrid noises mask the creaking of the worn floorboards as the family passes over them, the huffing of her grandfather and the tiny pants that escape Nuan as she struggles to carry her pudgy, whining son. At one point the ransacking becomes so loud that is must be happening in the next room, and Xue steers them down a new hall in desperation.

The chamber they stumble into is a large one, formerly the site of audiences and holiday banquets. In the old days− when Tenten's grandfather was a child and the Zhu family was much larger− this room had been used regularly, but it has been closed off since the marriage of her parents some years before, and the girl has only seen it a handful of times in her wanderings. Even so, the maids had kept it clean; now that they are gone, there are cobwebs drifting from the rafters and a fine film of dust lying across the floor like dirty snow. They all leave tracks in the grime, Tenten notices, and in some calmer, detached part of her mind she thinks that these footprints are now the only difference between her family and ghosts.

They have crossed the full length of the room when something bizarre comes over her grandfather; the old man straightens suddenly, as though the years have fallen away from him, and shoves the supportive hand of his son roughly from his arm. Xue is stunned by the violence from this unexpected source, and he stops walking so quickly that Nuan and Tenten nearly run into him. The family clusters together, staring with apprehension at the tiny, quivering form of their patriarch; the man peers back at them, an unfamiliar glint in his narrow eyes. A gunshot reverberates from a distant room, startling them all, and like lightning Grandfather snatches the lantern from his son's hand and rushes back the way they have come, cackling in an eerie manner that makes the hair rise on the back of Tenten's neck.

For a moment, all is still and quiet− the Zhu family stands frozen in the dark, stupefied by the inexplicable departure of their headman, while the unseen trespassers have paused in their wanton destruction− but then Grandfather's crazed voice can be heard, shouting about vengeance for his country and a long dead brother. The night becomes alive with sound; surprised interlopers scream back, their strange voices mingling with the echoes of the old man, before being covered by a frenzied discharge of weaponry. Bullets blast holes into the roof, the walls, the floor, and a few even streak into the room where family cowers, hands pressed over their ears. All of the projectiles miss, but their very passage frightens Tenten so badly that she loses control of her little bladder.

The noise builds to a crescendo before tapering off, the ensuing quiet broken only by the occasional barked order or staccato burst from a firearm. There is no hint as to the fate of her grandsire− it is impossible to know whether he has been shot and killed or has managed to escape into a safer part of the compound− but for the time being that concern is secondary. "Is anyone hurt?" Xue whispers, and Tenten can barely hear him over the ringing in her ears. Standing in a puddle of rapidly cooling urine, the girl trembles so badly that she cannot bring herself to answer. Beside her, her mother is a pale specter, tears streaming from her eyes and one hand over the mouth of her brother, muffling the boy's terrified screams. They make a pitiful sight, but at least they are unharmed.

Xue must feel the same, for he looks them all over and blinks rapidly behind his spectacles, almost as though he too is crying. Words begin to leave his mouth, flowing forth rapidly and in an undertone that Tenten cannot understand; it is not until he finishes speaking and stands looking at her that the child realizes her father is leaving them to search for his parent. A new wave of panic washes over her, and Tenten slides her eyes upward to her mother, wondering what the woman will say about this. Nuan appears dumbstruck, unable to help, and Tenten glances back just in time to see Xue turning away from them. The man inhales a deep breath and straightens his spine, preparing to dutifully walk to his death. His right foot lifts, hovering in midair−

_Don't walk away, Baba!_

The desperate plea sticks like a lump in Tenten's throat and the girl finds herself rooted to the spot, but suddenly Jaiyi's wail swells in intensity. The unexpected sound fills the room around them, roiling about like a collective embodiment of anguish, and it serves to freeze Xue in place. Tenten realizes that her mother had purposefully dropped her hand from the boy's face, and a second later Nuan slips forward like a wraith and wraps that same clammy appendage around her husband's wrist, tugging frantically. Xue spins slowly back to them, moving like a man just awoken from a trance. Tenten observes the look that passes between the two, the way Nuan's beautiful coal eyes widen, begging Xue without words to abandon the hopeless notion of rescuing his father.

Asking him to save them instead.

The moment is interrupted by the surprised exclamations of the trespassers and the thunder of heavy boots running through a nearby corridor; Tenten knows the thieving men have undoubtedly heard the screaming of her little brother and are rushing to investigate. Her parents arrive at the same horrified realization, Nuan clapping her hand once more over the child's mouth and Xue pushing the three of them toward the nearest wall. A few hurried paces and the family is there, a set of double doors with a decorative lattice pattern etched upon them materializing out of the gloom. There is no lock that Tenten can see, but neither portal budges under a shove from her father's hands. They are trapped here, the sounds of their pursuers growing ever louder.

Desperate now, Xue retreats a few steps and makes a run at the doors, hurling his body against the seam where the two meet. The ancient egress splits with a resounding crack, opening wide as the man bounces off and tumbles back into the room, nearly falling upon his daughter. Moonlight and cold December air flood the chamber, welcome after what seems like forever spent in cloying darkness. Xue is on his feet in an instant− his left arm is hanging strangely, and Tenten can see the look of pain and fear that is seared onto his face− muttering for them to hurry and get outside, his words now punctuated by the strange little clouds that the girl has noticed only appear when weather is chill.

Nuan is the first onto porch, with Tenten following in her footsteps like a shadow. The pair makes it to the short flight of steps descending into the garden just as the family's hunters burst into the room behind them, shouting in their strange language. Tenten whirls to look, but she cannot see the men in the inky recesses of the chamber. Her mahogany eyes find her father just as he pulls a dusty _dadao_− the sword had been a marriage gift to her parents from her uncle Gai, though the child has no way of knowing this− off a peg upon the wall and sprints after them, the blade throwing strange reflections of light all about. Tenten feels a new flare of panic, because her father is no warrior, but then her mother is pulling her by the hand and begging her to hurry.

The ancient stone stairs are freezing, their coldness seeping into the piss-damp material of Tenten's pink slippers. Through the thin soles she can feel the wear of each step, the myriad cracks and erosions caused by earthquakes and generations of Zhu feet. Despite her terror, these obstacles are nothing to the nimble girl; she lets go of her mother's hand and dashes down, stepping out onto the gravel path far ahead of either parent. Whirling to check on their progress, Tenten glances up just in time to see Nuan put one delicately shod foot down wrong, catching only a portion of the step beneath her heel. The woman lets out a shout as she falls hard, Jaiyi tumbling from her thin arms and bouncing sickeningly before landing at Tenten's feet like some carelessly discarded doll.

_Mama! Jaiyi!_

Tenten squats beside the prone form of her brother, rolls him onto his back. Except for a patch of blood on his cheek, Jaiyi's round face is whiter than the full moon hanging behind her in the sky, his black eyes open and unseeing. For a moment the girl fears that her earlier wish has come true and her sibling is dead, but as she shakes his shoulder his little mouth drops suddenly open, sucking in a great breath of air. Shock vanishes with the influx of oxygen and the boy begins to scream once more, a mingled cry of fright and pain. Tenten is so grateful that she does not care about the noise; she grabs Jaiyi under the arms and uses all her strength to lift his bulk upright, holding him even though he is too heavy to do so comfortably.

On the stairs, Xue has dropped the _dadao_ and pulled the dazed Nuan to her feet. The two of them hold a hastily whispered conversation, their words too low for Tenten's straining ears to catch, and then separate with a lingering look so filled with sadness and regret it makes the girl's throat tighten . Xue bends to retrieve his weapon and− to his daughter's lasting horror− ascends the stairs to await their pursuers. Nuan staggers down the last few steps to join them, and Tenten spots the ugly swelling at her mother's hairline before her fretful gaze flits back to her father. Hands spin her around, turning her against her will toward the garden, and Nuan begins pushing her forward. "Go Tenten, take your brother and run for the gap. I'll be right behind you."

Tenten refuses to budge, keeps resisting the feeble shoves of her mother. She turns her head frantically, looking over first one shoulder and then the next, trying to see what has become of her father. The motion is futile; Nuan's form blocks all view and when Tenten twists around for a third time the woman loses all patience and brings her hand down in a stinging slap upon the girl's cheek. The world is immediately lost behind a new veil of tears and for a brace of heartbeats Tenten's senses are dull to everything but smarting skin and the chilly air nipping at it; then her nose picks up an acrid odor that can only be smoke. As if reading her mind, Nuan moans, "My God, our house! The house is on fire! Tenten, go now! _Run!_"

This time the child heeds the order, takes off running across the dying grass without so much as a backward glance. Her progress is slowed by blurry vision and the cumbersome bundle clutched in her arms, and so she is only halfway across the garden when the trespassers surge from the burning building behind her. The man in the lead raises his hand and fires a pistol into the air− perhaps signaling that the family should all freeze− but this shot and the one that follows a second later only encourage Tenten to run faster. Heart pounding, lungs bursting, arms and legs burning with the effort, she sprints the last few strides to the compound's eastern wall and tosses the wriggling Jaiyi into the concealment of the hawthorn bush before diving in after him.

Long thorns snag her _qipao_, rending the beautiful silk in half a dozen places even as they score her skin, leaving crimson furrows in their wake. Tenten ignores this newest pain as best she can and ducks lower, crawling beneath the spreading branches toward the old granite wall standing strong behind them, pushing Jaiyi before her. Her only aim is to clear a space large enough to hide her mother, and so when her small hand brushes the rough edge of the crack she does not slip through the gap but pauses, waiting. Nuan had promised that she would be right behind them, but minutes pass− each one is like an eternity, causing both children to grow restless with anxiety− and still the woman does not show.

Jaiyi pauses his sobbing long enough to ask in his piping voice, "Mama? Tenten, where's Mama?"

Tenten swallows hard against the constriction of her throat, intending to reassure the boy, but finds herself still strangely mute. She closes her mouth and settles for patting her brother on the shoulder, hoping he understands that she is asking him to stay where he is. Jaiyi gathers that she is leaving him and snatches at her clothing, beginning to cry once more. The girl shoves him off and starts creeping back the way she has come, doing her best to avoid the worst of the plant's bristles. Dense foliage thins out gradually, glimpses of the garden appearing through the leaves. Tenten dares not leave the protection offered by this natural screen, chooses instead to kneel just within it. One hand gingerly pushes a limb out of the way, and she peeks out cautiously.

The first thing Tenten's eyes alight upon is their house, and she is horrorstruck by its condition; the beloved building is burning quickly now, yellow and orange flames pouring from every door and window, spitting sparks and licking their way towards the heavy tiled roof. Clouds of black smoke are soaring heavenward, twisting like ribbons and blotting out the stars that are spread so generously across the sky. Watching the little pinpricks of light wink out one by one proves almost hypnotizing, and the girl does not realize that Jaiyi has joined her until the boy bumps into her shoulder whilst trying to squeeze past. Startled, Tenten grabs him around the middle and tries to pinion his flailing arms with her own. He struggles mightily, screaming, "Mama! We have to help Mama!"

Tenten peers over his shoulder and finally notices the gathering of people standing on the lawn, their forms backlit by the conflagration. There are perhaps twenty of them− lean men in tan uniforms and dark boots, armed with rifles and the occasional long sword strapped to their waist− surrounding her father, who seems to have been stripped of his weapon. Most are shorter than her parent, with close-cropped dark hair and skin tones in varying shades of tan. They are obviously foreigners, and yet they appear nothing like the diverse Westerners she has sometimes seen on the streets of Nanking. As the most decorated man steps forward and begins questioning her father, his words made indistinct by distance and the roaring of the flames, Tenten spots her mother.

Nuan is sprawled upon the unforgiving ground, lying motionless halfway between the loitering men and the bush Tenten and Jaiyi are crouched within. She is face-down and entirely disheveled, resembling nothing so much as a crushed butterfly; her long hair has come undone from the knot at the nape of her neck, the glossy black tresses spreading across her lithe form, silken skirt rising up to expose her pale, slender calves. The back of her right leg has what appears to be a ragged_ hole_ in it, blood streaming from the ugly wound, glistening sickly in the firelight. The terrible recollection of hearing a second gunshot rises unbidden in Tenten's mind, and she knows that the bullet has found her mother, has perhaps killed her.

_Dead. My mother is _dead_…_

As if the fates themselves are out to disprove Tenten's assumption, Nuan begins to stir. Tenten holds her breath as her mother lifts her head and begins to pull herself forward using her arms, dragging her injured leg behind her. The determined woman moves just a few inches at a time, and Tenten finds herself silently praying that she will find the strength to hurry up, to make it all the way to their hideout unnoticed. That wish is dispelled almost immediately; one of the waiting soldiers spots Nuan's feeble attempt to escape and he quickly points this out to his comrades, a number of whom smile and throw their heads back, laughing uproariously. Tenten notes that their leader does not share their mirth, merely narrows his cold eyes at the struggling woman and issues a terse order.

After that, everything happens very fast.

A young soldier with a hint of fuzz above his upper lip separates himself from the group, striding forward to stand flush with the shoulder of the oblivious Nuan. Tenten sees him pull a handgun− deceptively tiny, the cold metal shining in the moonlight− from a leather holster hanging beneath his arm. The girl knows what is going to happen next, yet she is helpless to prevent it or even turn her eyes away. She can only clutch her brother tightly as the Japanese man holds the weapon out at arm's length, aiming with an air of nonchalance before squeezing the trigger. There is a loud bang and a flash of light from the muzzle, and suddenly Nuan's head is in several pieces, her pale brain matter splattered across the withered grass.

Tenten does not realize she is screaming until Jaiyi yanks his chubby arm free from her grasp, his hand flying back to bash her in the face. The girl's wordless howl is choked off by a disgusting gush of snot and blood from her nose, and her lips start to swell rapidly. She accidently loosens her hold on Jaiyi, and the boy is immediately shoving branches aside and leaping from cover, dashing across the lawn and crying out for his mother. The heads of the assembled men swivel as one toward this newest disturbance, surprise registering on the faces of the Japanese. Xue has his good hand held in the air, and Tenten− who cannot seem to find the strength to stand, though she knows she should follow her brother so they might face their doom together− can see him talking, imagines he is begging them not to shoot.

The pleas of her grief-stricken father are met with indifference by the soldiers; Tenten never identifies the shooter, but as her ears register the crack of a rifle the running Jaiyi lurches to the right, a crimson chasm appearing where his pudgy belly should be. The boy is dead before he hits the ground, his body coming to rest only a few yards away from the mother he had sought so desperately to reach. Xue loses it then and− giving vent to a scream of rage that echoes all the way back to the hawthorn bush− leaps at the callous commandant standing before him. The man unsheathes his sword with astonishing speed, the long blade reflecting flames as it slices through the air to impale itself in her father's chest.

Xue slumps forward, a full six inches of sword sticking through the space between his shoulder blades. His round spectacles slide gradually down his nose before tumbling from his blanched face and landing in the grass at his feet. They crunch under the Japanese officer's heel as the man steps forward and shoves the blade deeper into his victim's chest; Tenten cannot possibly hear the sound from where she is hidden, but the smashing of those glasses seems to reverberate within her soul, an echo of her breaking heart. The commander lifts his foot and places it squarely in her father's stomach, kicking out even as he gives the weapon a vicious twist and wrenches it from the scholar's body. Xue crumples, dying slowly.

Tenten feels like she dies with him.

Wiping the blade clean upon clothing of her still-breathing father, the officer sheathes his sword and turns to look at his companions. He issues a terse order and the men obediently spread out, beginning a search of the garden. The soldier responsible for shooting her mother begins walking slowly in the direction of the hawthorn bush, his gun held in front of him protectively. Tenten's eyes follow his progress, her face betraying no emotion. She knows that it is only a matter of time before the young man stumbles upon her hiding place and kills her too, but she can no longer bring herself to fear such a fate; staring at the lifeless bodies of her family, survivor's guilt− the cruelest gift that the mind can bestow− is already beginning to take hold of her soul. Closing her eyes, Tenten waits for discovery, for the end−

_Tenten, go now! Run!_

The words come from somewhere deep inside, rise up to rattle around inside her skull. She hears them all− little Jaiyi, loving Nuan, wise Xue− each one urging her to escape. For a moment Tenten argues with them, tries to explain that a life without her family means nothing, that it is not a life worth living. They drown her protestations out, their voices growing louder, more urgent, and finally overlapping. Tenten is forced to surrender to their will; heart pounding, her chocolate eyes snap open to behold the teenage soldier just a few feet away. Her body moves on its own, twisting round and plunging headlong into the depths of the shrub, heedless of the thorns. She hears the murderer's triumphant scream of discovery, feels the bush shake as he crawls in behind her, but the crack is just inches away and nothing's going to stop her−

Tenten bursts through the gap in the wall, flinging herself into the wider world and tripping upon a rock in her haste. For a moment she hangs weightless, and then gravity takes the girl in its unforgiving embrace, and she tumbles down the slope and into the darkened fields beyond.

_To be continued…_


	12. Intermission: Nanking

_Naruto_ © Masashi Kishimoto.

_Author's note: This chapter deals with the fall of Nanking and the subsequent pillaging, when an estimated 300,000 civilians died. I have endeavored to remain true to the order of battle and the kinds of atrocities which occurred and, while my work will never live up to the real horror, there is some dark material here._

_On a happier note, you can expect cameos by more of your favorite characters in the next few chapters, though their names will often go unmentioned._

**The Hardest Journey**

_December 11, 1937_

Tenten arrives outside the walls of Nanking− capital city of the Republic of China− at dusk, pauses to stare at their immensity in the fading light; her grandfather often said their honored Zhu ancestors had ordered these fortifications built over five hundred years ago, and that the granite used in their construction had come from the very mines her family own, but the girl does not know the truth of such assertions. She is aware, however, that the encircling walls are an average of fifty feet high and thirty feet thick, that they are impossible to breach. Anyone seeking to enter the metropolis must do so using one of the nineteen gates built into the ramparts at intervals, but the ones on the eastern side of the city all seem to be besieged by the Japanese, and the child has been forced to sneak around to the unfamiliar northern environs.

Like so much of the countryside Tenten has trekked across in the past day, this place is a world of ash. All of the squalid homes and small businesses that once crowded the strip of land between the city's walls and the wharves stretching out into the blackness of the Yangtze River have been abandoned and put to the torch. This ingenious act of defiance by the citizens and soldiers of Nanking has effectively destroyed any cover or goods that could be used by the enemy; however, the resulting desolation leaves the weary youngster dangerously exposed as she shambles toward what appears to be an accessible gate. A harsh voice reaches the girl when she is halfway across the plain, demands that she stop and identify herself.

Tenten swallows hard against the grit sitting in her dry throat, and opens her mouth with the intention of calling out her name, but no sound issues forth; she cannot tell if this is merely because she is so dehydrated, or if the failure of speech is like the one she suffered two nights ago while trying to escape her invaded home. Deciding that the reason for her silence does not matter, the child merely raises one weighty arm in a feeble wave of acknowledgement and continues to plod along. She receives a shout in reply, and then there is the sound of many voices arguing, but she cannot bother to sort their words from the strange ringing that has been present in her ears since waking in the overgrown field below the smoldering remnants of the Zhu house.

The crack of a gunshot echoes across the bleak plain, and a bullet buries itself in the ground a few paces ahead of the girl, sending up a tiny cloud of grey dust. Tenten barely hears the blast, but she is so startled by this little plume that she misses a step and trips over the brick she had been trying to avoid. She tumbles forward into the thick carpet of cinders, choking on the abrasive little particles and smudging her skin and clothes with monochrome streaks. The child pushes herself onto her hands and tries to find the strength to stand, but she is too weak; her trembling arms give out and she collapses back upon the earth just as another bullet whizzes over her head. Against her will, her eyelids begin to flutter and, although Tenten does her best to resist, they finally fall shut.

Moments later, the gentle movement of her aching body brings Tenten back to consciousness, and she realizes that someone has turned her over onto her back. Nothing more happens for a heartbeat, and then something metallic is pressed against her cracked lips; cool water seeps between them and splashes over her tongue, and the youngster chugs greedily, doing her best to slake the terrible thirst caused by her journey. She still has not had her fill when she begins to cough, and the essential liquid is abruptly taken away. Unable to complain, Tenten inhales a breath and forces her chocolate eyes open, only to find herself staring at the pockmarked visage of a boy she knows, the teenage son of one of her father's sharecroppers.

He must recognize her as well, although the way he stutters makes it evident he never thought he would see her like this. "M-miss Tenten?"

* * *

Qingnian squats back on his heels, causing the butt of the ancient rifle hanging from his narrow shoulder to drag a furrow in the dirt behind him. Tenten watches as he lowers his dark eyes and picks nervously at the edge of one of the many indentations that cover his face; here, sitting in the gloom of Yijiang Gate with only a flickering lantern to serve as their illumination, the boy's pitted skin reminds her of the cratered surface of the moon. The girl had been afraid of him as when she was younger, preferring his unblemished twin brother as a playmate, but now that role is reversed and the teenager does not meet her anxious gaze as he mumbles, "I don't think your nose is broken. But you probably have a concussion."

Tenten takes another sip of water from his canteen before trying to hand it back. With frantic gestures, Qingnian indicates that she should keep it, so she merely sighs and drops the half-full container into her lap before leaning gingerly back against the cold stone wall stretching up into the darkness above her. The urge to close her eyes and sleep like the guardsmen huddled all around is almost overwhelming; the child blinks heavily and tentatively rubs at her temple, where a tiny knot has formed at her hairline. Keeping her voice low so as not to disturb the slumbering men, Tenten asks, "What exactly is a concussion? The lump on my head? Is that the reason I keep hearing a ringing in my ears?"

"Probably," Qingnian replies, answering only her last question. He slips the firearm from his back, places it with care upon the ground before lying down beside it. Another soldier walks past the lantern on his way to replace the sentries stationed outside, his movement causing the yellow flame to waver and shadows to dance across the cave-like walls; in the lambent lighting, a silent Tenten watches as her savior shifts once before becoming motionless and allowing his eyes to drift closed. Just when she thinks the teenager has forgotten her and fallen asleep, he murmurs a firm sounding, "Miss Tenten? In the morning, I want you to walk back out of Yijiang Gate and take the road that leads to Chungking. Promise me you'll do that."

Silence stretches as Tenten wonders over this strange command. During the cursory physical examination Qingnian had given her earlier, she had imparted what she could about the tragedy which had befallen the Zhu family back at their estate. The girl had explained without crying− oddly enough, the tears seem to be bottled up somewhere deep inside− that she must get into the capital and seek out her only remaining relatives. Knowing these things, and that the Japanese are positioned just outside the city, how can Qingnian demand that she depart the safety of these sturdy walls? To walk all the way to Chungking, a distance of several hundred miles? Swallowing nervously, she asks, "Why would you want me to leave?"

Qingnian twists his head toward her, and for the first time since lifting her out of the ashes, he allows his deferential attitude to fall away and looks her straight in the eyes. Tenten sees an emptiness inside those dark orbs that seems to echo the hollowness of her own soul; she abruptly recalls seeing no sign of his twin among the men who had been loitering when he had carried her into the tunnel. Pity swamps the youngster, and she opens her mouth to give some sort of condolence, but Qingnian lifts a finger to his lips to forestall her. He lowers his voice another octave, and whispers so that she can barely make him out above the hum inside her head, "Our leaders have declared that Nanking will fight to the death. We're not just here to keep the damned Japanese out−"

A chill steals over Tenten as she realizes his meaning, and she pulls her knees to her thin chest and wraps her arms protectively around them.

"− but to hold the remaining soldiers in."

* * *

_December 12, 1937_

The pounding begins again at dawn. Thunderous reverberations ring out across the sprawling capital as the Imperial Japanese Army resumes its attack on the southern and eastern most gates, using heavy artillery in an attempt to blast their way into the beleaguered city. From reinforced perches atop the massive walls, the drained Chinese defenders answer back, mowing the advancing enemy troops down with volleys of machine gun fire and makeshift incendiary devices. Whole battalions are wiped out, and yet the Japanese− with their vastly superior numbers− continue to press forward, the crimson rising sun on their flag moving closer to the fortifications even as its inspiration ascends into the brilliant blue sky.

Nanking is in danger of falling.

On the northern edge of the metropolis, ensconced inside the still secure Yijiang Gate, Zhu Tenten is curled into a ball and dreaming of home. A lanky, middle-aged soldier runs inside bellowing the latest news− two fleets of Japanese warships have sailed up the Yangtze and should soon be visible, the city is nearly encircled now, one of the distant posterns has been breached, soldiers are deserting their posts in droves− and the sound of his frightened voice literally jerks the child out of her slumber; in an instant she has blinked away the beguiling visions of days gone by and is once more sitting with her back pressed against the granite wall, watching with wide eyes as the artificial chamber erupts into a controlled sort of chaos.

"Miss Tenten!"

Her name echoes against the stones, and Tenten swivels her head to face the caller. Qingnian is standing a few paces away, covered in sweat despite the chill in the air. He gestures toward a group of soldiers clustered at the entrance− the men are pushing the heavy wooden portal open, peering through the sunlit crack to the sparkling river beyond− and the grave expression on his blemished features clearly says that she should go now, flee and take her chances outside the city. Tenten knows that she cannot do this, not while her family remains trapped inside, but she gives him a brief nod of assent. When the reassured teenager turns away and begins to uncoil some barbed wire, the tiny girl stands and slips unnoticed through the barricades in the gate's rear.

* * *

Contrary to both the earliness of the hour and Tenten's own expectations, Zhongshan North Road is swarming with people. Everywhere the awestruck child looks, she sees them: extended families squatting in the street or on frozen stoops, nursing babes and worldly goods cradled in their arms, rich and poor now made equals by terror and despair, and− in the most shadowed alleys− gaunt soldiers are throwing away their guns and stripping off filthy uniforms in an effort to blend in with these homely civilians. All are hoping to escape Nanking− to become refugees like those unfortunate souls Tenten had once seen moving past her home in a summer thunderstorm− and if what Qingnian had told her last night is true, very few of them will have the chance to do so.

There is a part of Tenten that wishes she could warn these desperate people that their salvation does not exist at the well-guarded Yijiang Gate or the wharves beyond it, but she knows better than to try; no one is going to give much credence to the words of sooty, orphaned girl-child. Instead of shouting aloud her prognostications of doom, she inhales a deep breath to combat the sensation of claustrophobia, and steps onto the overcrowded thoroughfare. Darting through the tangles of unwashed bodies without apologizing− most individuals ignore her anyway− and shoving when it becomes necessary to do so, she attempts to make her way southeast against the tide but only manages a few blocks before midmorning.

_This is insane..._

After traversing yet another congested intersection and finding the way before her blocked by a number of the large trucks used for transporting troops, Tenten pauses on the corner to rest. As she leans against an unfamiliar building, struggling to catch her breath in the cold air, the youngster sees an old lady sitting in a wheelbarrow. The woman is being pushed− or would be, if the traffic were moving− by a pair of grown men who must be her sons, and Tenten is reminded of the rickshaws that used to barrel down these avenues. She allows herself to daydream, to pretend that she could be pulled safely to Gai's house, but the fantasy is a fleeting one; before her, the elderly woman begins to gnaw on a strip of jerky, and Tenten's empty belly gives a rumble in response.

The decision to move on is an easy one, but in the scant time the little girl has spent resting, more people have joined the milling horde; knowing that she must still navigate half the city− and all too aware that it would be madness to continue walking down the road− Tenten decides to cross it and find an easier route. She ducks underneath one of the trucks, intending to crawl beneath it to the other side, just as a group of soldiers leaves the nearest building and climbs up into the rusting cab. The horn honks several times as a warning to the massed pedestrians, startling Tenten so that she jumps and knocks her head on the metal undercarriage. The ancient diesel engine roars to life, and the fortunate child squeezes out between the tires right as they begin to roll.

None of those individuals forced to move aside for the automobiles seems pleased to have her escape into their overcrowded midst:

"Stupid bitch."

"You were almost run over!"

"Watch where you're going!"

Ears ringing once more, Tenten ignores the rabble and pushes through to the far side of the boulevard. Sandwiched between two abandoned stores is an alley which could lead to a more passable road, but she hesitates at the mouth; the shops are several stories tall− the owners probably lived above them− and they lean into one another, effectively blocking out the noonday sunlight. The girl peers into the darkness with chocolate eyes, trying to gauge the distance to the other side and wondering if there are deserters or packs of feral dogs hiding inside. Nothing moves in the inky lighting. Steeling her nerves, Tenten places the fingers of her right hand against the timber structure nearest her and, holding the other defensively in front, begins to stumble down the lane.

Tenten is possibly halfway through her sightless trek when she trips over something at knee height− a crate perhaps, because it snags at her _qipao_ and gives a resounding crack that sounds like splintering wood. She goes sprawling onto the mucky ground, her hand torn away from the wall she had been using as a guide. There is a loud squeak and a flash of fur against her uncovered ankle, gone in the time it takes the child realizes she must have disturbed a rat's nest. With a revolted shudder, she pulls herself back to her feet, feeling a stinging on both knees that must mean she has scrapped them open in the tumble. Pain brings the tears out of hiding, but she forces them back, refusing to cry until she has joined Gai and Lee and it is safe enough to mourn her family properly.

Tenten makes a guess as to her direction and, after what seems like an eternity, manages to limp out of the darkened alley. Holding one hand up to shield her eyes against the comparatively bright winter sun, she glances around and notes her location with a sense of disappointment; the roadway she is standing upon is on the far western side of the city, near the railroad tracks and foreign embassies, and it terminates in a small, verdant parkland where her father would sometimes take the family for picnics. Several tiny groups of people, bundled against the cold and burdened with their possessions, are trickling through a moon-gate into the walled common. Regarding them, curiosity gets the better of young Tenten and helps her to ignore the sad ache in her chest:

_What are they doing? Is this an escape route?_

While she is staring, something brushes her leg and− remembering the encounter with the rat− Tenten experiences a moment of panic. Instinctively, the girl flails the wounded appendage and recoils a step before glancing down and spying the carmine rubber ball lying on the pavement beside her feet. Exhaling a sigh of relief, she stoops and picks it up; twisting round to search for the object's owner, she is surprised to find a diminutive Western boy, perhaps a year or two younger than herself, standing a few paces away. He smiles shyly at her and holds out his pale hands for the toy, but Tenten can only gawk in response; this is the closest she has ever been to a foreigner, and she finds his wiry, flame-colored hair and cornflower blue eyes to be slightly off-putting.

Aware that she is being discourteous, Tenten manages to close her dangling jaw and tosses the ball in a gentle arc to the boy. He catches it easily and− further astonishing the child− gives a proper bow before thanking her in perfect Mandarin. She emulates the respectful gesture automatically, but the words are much harder for the amazed girl to come by; he giggles quietly at her spluttered response, moves to stand directly in front of her. Before Tenten has a chance to really ponder this new proximity, the youth reaches into the breast pocket of his starched white shirt, and pulls out a petite brown paper bag. Smile widening, he thrusts the sack awkwardly into her hands before whirling around and dashing across the street.

Tenten has not the faintest idea of the gift she has been given− the bag fits easily into one palm, and its weight is negligible− but her grumbling stomach prays that it is some sort of food. She tries to unroll the top of the crinkling bag, but her eagerness gets the best of her and she ends up ripping it down the seam; small, fluffy cylinders of various colors spill out, and she just manages to catch them with her other hand. Confused by their appearance, the girl puzzles over them before finally deciding that they must be some sort of confectionary. Tentatively, she lifts one spongy piece and puts it into her mouth. The candy requires quite a bit of chewing and is sweeter than Tenten is accustomed to, but otherwise is not bad.

She consumes the entire bag's worth, standing right there in the road.

As soon as she is finished eating, Tenten becomes aware of the sensation of being watched. Seeking the source, she raises her chocolate eyes and immediately looks in the direction the boy had taken off to. She is not surprised to see him standing on the corner with three other people− two more Westerners, an older boy and a girl who resemble him only slightly, and one mature Chinese woman− chattering at them and gesturing back toward her. Painfully aware of her battered body and disheveled clothing, youngster is embarrassed by the intense scrutiny of their oddly colorful eyes. That discomfort blossoms into absolute mortification when the teenage boy lifts the bulky camera hanging from a strap around his thick neck and snaps her picture.

Tenten turns to run−

"Wait, girl!"

The authoritative tone of the matron is eerily similar to Wang Min's, and Tenten freezes in place. Watching warily as the heavyset woman waddles across the road toward her, the girl decides that the voice is the only resemblance to her dismissed amah, and feels slightly better for it. The nanny comes to stand before her, puts her hands on her hips and struggles to catch her breath. As she does so, she observes Tenten through narrowed black eyes; the child stares back defiantly, the brown paper bag crunched in one fist at her side. Finally, the maid finds the air to ask, "You're wearing some quality silk there. Did you steal it? No, never mind, that's not important. My mistress wishes to know what you're doing out here on your own."

Insulted, Tenten's gaze flickers to the bizarre, alabaster-skinned creature loitering across the narrow street. The young woman is standing quite still, the narrow, lavender skirt of her dress hanging motionless about her tall form, and is observing them both with catlike green eyes. Her face is angular and intelligent− framed by curly, honey-colored tresses that have been slicked back into a number of poufy pigtails− but there is something about it which appears rather unsympathetic to Tenten. The girl returns her attention to the rude serving woman standing before her, and angrily snaps, "The clothes and business are my own, and if your mistress wants to know about them so badly, then she can come over here and ask me herself!"

The fat woman gasps loudly, and glances quickly over her rounded shoulder to her three charges. She gives them a nod and an obsequious smile before turning back to Tenten, her manner changing in an instant and voice lowering to a threatening hiss. "You filthy, insolent brat! You better watch what you say; the mistress refuses to speak anything other than accursed German, but she understands our civilized tongue even better than her younger brothers. What's more, her great devil barbarian of a father is running the refugee camps here in the Safety Zone, and if you're foolish enough to displease his ghost children you could find yourself thrown back out into the city, waiting to serve as a welcome party for the fiendish Japanese!"

Tenten meets the condescending maid's smirk with a scowl of her own, steadfastly refusing to yield even though her mind is struggling to process this newest information. If what the corpulent woman says is true, and the authorities have ordered an evacuation for the general populace, then it is possible that Gai and Lee have already left their home and moved into one of the camps. She has no way of knowing how many of these sites exist throughout Nanking, or where they are located, and even if she did, searching them all could take days… An idea strikes Tenten suddenly, and the child leaps around the protesting bulk of the amah stationed in front of her. Dodging a poor family heading for the security of the park, she rushes across the street.

The three siblings react to Tenten's company with varying degrees of emotion; the young woman frowns down at the girl before glaring at her maid, while the stout teenaged male inclines his brunette head in her direction. The little red-headed boy gives the same shy grin from earlier, and it is on him that Tenten fixes her attention. She bows humbly and holds out the tattered remains of the paper bag, thanks him sincerely for giving her the candy. He takes the trash from her with equal gravity, and she asks hopefully, "I'm looking for a man: a _kung fu _instructor named Maito Gai. He would be a little over thirty, traveling with his son, and they're both probably wearing green robes? Can you please tell me if you've you seen anyone like that in the camps?"

The blonde woman acts as though she has not heard Tenten, pirouetting on the kitten heel of her boots and walking up the road toward the German consulate. The little boy pulls his blue eyes from the retreating form of his sister and frowns. He shakes his wiry head in answer to Tenten's question, then glances solemnly up at his elder brother. The teenager spends a moment in deep thought before replying in passable Mandarin, "Sorry, but I've been through the whole Safety Zone taking pictures, and if I'd photographed them I would remember. They could have left the city months ago, or maybe they're among the crazy people trying to get out now. The best thing for you to do would be to go to one of the camps, and we'll get it all sorted out when it's quieter."

As if on cue, there is the rumble of a distant explosion. The fat amah begins vociferously shepherding her charges toward the safety of their lavish home, and a dejected Tenten is left alone on the street.

* * *

Both evening and the temperature are falling fast when Tenten rounds a landscaped corner in what had previously been a thriving, affluent neighborhood. By the pale light of a rising moon, she sees that Gai's house− located at the end of the boulevard− is still standing; after crossing the length of Nanking and viewing firsthand the destruction which has been wrought by months of aerial bombardment, the tired child had been left wondering if it would even still exist. She tries to pick up her pace, anxious to discover the fate of its residents, but her silken slippers are fraying open at the soles and her feet are so swollen and blistered that she cannot manage anything more than a hobble. Twilight gives way to full dark by the time she finds herself outside the gates.

_Finally..._

Tenten does not dare call out a greeting− the darkness and the strange silences emanating from nearby homes leave her too unnerved to do so. Instead, she reaches up and gently lifts the latch, pushes on the heavy wooden door. It is unlocked, and as it swings fully open whatever little faith that remained buried inside the girl crumbles; there are no lanterns burning beside the courtyard walkways, no illumination spilling from between the cracks on the shuttered windows, no movement and no voices. Her uncle's studio has been flattened by a monstrous, alien hunk of metal which Tenten decides must be a bomb. Although the weapon has failed to detonate, Tenten is certain that it must still be dangerous and that no one would have remained in such close proximity to it.

The house is utterly abandoned.

Knowing that a search of the unkempt grounds shall turn up no one, and being too exhausted for a nighttime walk back Yijiang Gate, Tenten makes a decision: she will rest here, regardless of the missile. She slides the heavy bar across the front entrance, enters the pitch black of the forlorn dwelling, and staggers in the direction of the eastern chambers. Although it has been more than a year since her last visit, the young girl heads unerringly toward the room where she had often been quartered; as near as she can tell, the apartment is as she had left it. She traverses the squeaky floorboards, climbs up onto the _kang_− the wide sleeping platform is cold now, without the fires to heat it− and hunkers down in a messy heap of unwashed blankets.

A single tear glides down her dirty cheek, and then Tenten succumbs to a dreamless sleep.

* * *

_December 13, 1937_

Tenten is awakened, not by the sweet chirping of birds greeting the sunlight as in the days of yore, but by the noise of an explosion at a nearby gate. Gunfire instantly follows the blast, the staccato sounds echoing throughout Gai's deserted community before tapering off and finally ceasing altogether. The girl remains huddled in bed and calmly ponders the implications of this unexpected peace, but a sudden clamor arises from the kitchen just down the hall; alarmed and yet somehow hopeful that she had been mistaken about her family's evacuation, perhaps missing them in the gloom, Tenten bolts upright. Despite the protestations of her injured body, she untangles the covers twined about her legs, slides off the _kang_ and hurries out the bedroom door.

Determined to find source of the commotion, Tenten makes her way down the corridor, tiptoeing as best she can on her aching feet. She passes Gai's chamber, glances swiftly inside and perceives that the austere room is devoid of life before continuing on. A moment later thinks the child thinks better of it and doubles back; hanging on the wall are some of her uncle's favorite weapons, considered too precious to be left in the studio, and− since she does not know whom or what might be ransacking the galley− it would be prudent to be armed. She chooses the knife that is suspended beside Gai's beloved two-section staff, lifts it carefully down from its supportive pegs and looks over the gleaming razor-edge with an expression akin to reverence.

Tenten has never held a weapon before, and something about the blade in her hand makes her feel just a little less helpless.

The commotion grows louder as Tenten continues slinking down the passageway, and by the time she turns a corner and finds herself in the dining room she can recognize the rattling of pots and pans. Footsteps covered by the noise, she creeps over to the kitchen door and pauses just outside; the adolescent inhales a reassuring breath, shifts her grip on the smooth handle of the knife, and peers cautiously around the jamb. There is a young woman crouched upon the floor, and though her backside is facing Tenten and her head is hidden within the confines of a cabinet, the girl recognizes the luxuriant ebony braid trailing over her spine. Blinking to be sure she is not imagining things, Tenten raises her voice above the din and calls out, "Lien? What are you doing?"

Ma Lien gives a surprised screech, which is abruptly cut short when she jerks backward and cracks her skull on the underside of the counter. With a muffled curse, the maid withdraws gingerly from the dim recesses of the cabinet, turns and peeks through watering eyes at the child standing in the doorway. As always, Tenten is struck by the woman's appearance; Lien is absolutely breathtaking. Her parents had been tenants on the Zhu farmlands, with too many mouths to feed, and they would have sold their daughter to a local brothel− what _that_ is, Tenten is not entirely certain− for a one-time payment. Fortunately, Gai had been in need of a servant, and the promise of steady monthly wages had been enough to save the teenager from such a horrific fate.

Lien stands slowly, and brushes a few specks of dirt from the long skirt of her cerulean _qipao_. The dress is nowhere near as beautiful as Tenten's once was− being constructed of a poorer quality fabric and lacking the delicate stitched details− but Lien looks much prettier in hers than the little girl believes she can ever hope to be. Stepping carefully around the various containers littered across the floor, she glides across the short distance between them and kneels before the youngster. A graceful inclination of the head, and then onyx eyes meet Tenten's chocolate ones. There is sympathy in those limpid orbs, as though the woman is already aware of what has transpired. "Miss Tenten! You scared me half to death! How on earth did you get here?"

"I walked," Tenten replies. She flushes immediately, aware of how insolent such an answer sounds, but Lien does not seem to have noticed− for a moment, the maid looks as though she will break the tension with a giggle, but then her gaze strays to the child's ruined feet, and she gasps aloud instead. Slender arms hoist Tenten onto the counter, and the perplexed girl watches as the woman begins bustling around the kitchen, clearly in her element. A fire is quickly lit, and two pots are lifted from the ground and filled with water; one is suspended above the flames, and the smaller has a few handfuls of rice poured into it from a sack in the corner. Lien smiles at her handiwork, commands Tenten to stay put, and disappears from the room.

Although Tenten had spent only a few moments with Lien, she had been soothed by the companionship of the placid maid. Now, with the older woman absent, the girl develops a nervousness; she remains seated upon the workbench, with her skinny legs dangling over the side, but pulls the knife from its hiding place behind her back. The weight of it is reassuring is the youngster's palm, and she is passing it mechanically from hand to hand and watching the steam rise from the boiling water when Lien returns unnoticed. The servant is loaded down with supplies, which she drops the onto the countertop with a thud, and the unexpected noise startles Tenten so badly that she pricks her left thumb with the blade. Hissing, she begins to suck on the wounded finger.

"You should be more careful," Lien says with a frown, and for a heartbeat Tenten fears the maid will confiscate the weapon; it is what her parents or her own nanny would have done, but the older woman merely tells her to hold onto it, pulls a towel from the pile of various provisions lying on the counter, and wanders over to the fire. She lifts the first vessel away from the heat and slides the second, rice-filled one deftly into its place. Lien carries the basin of warm water over and positions it beside Tenten, then places her hand upon the child's knee and explains clearly, "Your feet are badly damaged. We need to treat them so they don't become infected. It may hurt, but I need you to stay still and be brave. Can you do that for me?"

Tenten almost tells the maid no− if she were truly courageous, maybe things would have happened differently a few nights ago, and her family would still be alive− but the girl knows that she has no other option, so she signals an assent. Lien passes her a hand towel, commands her to bite on it if the pain becomes too much, and before Tenten has the opportunity to fully consider those words, the young woman is pulling the shredded slippers from her feet. In some spots, the filthy silk is matted to the swollen skin beneath by dried blood and pus, and Lien has no choice but to rip the material from wounds; they begin to weep immediately, and Tenten almost follows suit, but presses the cloth to her mouth and breathes deeply through her nose.

"That's the hardest part done," Lien tells her, picking up delicate ivory tweezers and plucking away a stubborn piece of shoe. Tenten looks down at her stinging feet and feels sick; in addition to scratches, there are a number of angry blisters across the toes and heels, and most have yet to burst. The nail of her left big toe is cracked down the center, and everything is covered in a thick layer of dirt. If Lien is repulsed by the sight, she does not show it, merely grabs Tenten about the ankles, pulls the knife from the countertop and begins popping the bubbles. Every prick is agony for the girl, and the sight of the blade piercing her skin is enough to make her jerk involuntarily, so Tenten gives up her observation and chooses to stare at the ceiling instead.

The next few moments are a blur of sensations. Lien immerses an old washcloth in the steaming tub, then begins to wipe the child's legs from the knobby knees on down to the tips of her toes. The grime is gradually lifted away, and what remains of the blisters− the dead epidermis− is scoured off to reveal shiny new skin beneath. Dirty water cools quickly in the winter air, dripping from her body to the floor below, goose bumps rising in its wake. Just as Tenten begins to shiver, the maid declares her clean enough and subjects the girl to a vigorous toweling. Afterward, Lien spreads an odd-smelling balm across her feet, and wraps them in a roll of linen bandages. Straightening, she gives Tenten a smile and brushes her hands off. "That does it. You were great."

"Thank you," Tenten replies gratefully, giving a little bow. Lien returns the gesture and moves to check on the rice, allowing her the opportunity to sort nosily through the rest of the goods on the counter. There is a thick-soled pair of shoes that− while bigger than the girl would have expected− must belong to Lee. She puts them on and is pleased to find they fit over the dressings. The next discovery is a tortoiseshell comb and two silk ribbons which had likely been found in the guest bedroom; although her small fingers are nowhere as deft as her amah's had been, Tenten proceeds to brush the tangles and waste from her thick hair. By the time Lien returns with a bowl of food, the wavy mass has been plaited and twisted into imperfect chignons.

"Eat slowly," Lien commands, handing her the porcelain dish and a pair of chopsticks. Pinned down by the maid's watchful eyes, Tenten obeys, although it is a struggle to do so; with the exception of the bizarre candy the white boy had given her, the girl has eaten nothing since the night of the attack on her family, and her stomach is desperate for sustenance. Plucking out a few fluffy grains at a time and chewing them deliberately, she finishes the bowl and is considering asking for another helping when Lien whispers sadly, "You really shouldn't have come here− it's not safe. Master Gai sent young Lee and his nanny to Chungking ten days ago. Then he dismissed all his servants and joined the soldiers on the walls. I don't know where he is, now."

_Qingnian said the basically the same thing..._

"But I had nowhere else to go," Tenten confesses in a hollow voice, and immediately recognizes that this distressing principle remains true. Grief overwhelms the girl; her throat tightens, tears building in her chocolate eyes, and the porcelain vessel slips from her trembling hand to shatter upon the floor. Lien reaches out and anxiously embraces her. The child buries her head against the softness of the woman's bosom, and finally allows herself to cry for all that she has lost.

* * *

It is approaching midday when the females set out from Gai's house. Ma Lien has graciously offered to let Tenten stay with her in the rooms she rents on the eastern side of the city, but it will be crowded− the young woman's extensive family had moved from the countryside ahead of the Japanese advance, and they have been crammed into her small apartment ever since. With food scarcity likely to become an issue, Lien is toting the half-full sack of rice from the kitchen; Tenten had worried they were stealing, and nearly refused to go, but the maid explained a promise Gai had made to his staff, allowing them make use of anything in his home during his absence. Reassured, the girl follows a few paces behind, hobbling about with the borrowed knife grasped in her hand.

The metropolis is abnormally quiet, broken only occasionally by the sounds of shooting. Some of the gunfire seems relatively close, and Tenten listens intently in an effort to pinpoint the source, but the adolescent has precious little luck; although the annoying hum has finally vanished from her head, and should make the task somewhat easier, the loud reverberations overlap one another and manage to fully fill the void that is her uncle's empty neighborhood. Giving up, the child moves on, only to pause a moment later in front of a crumbling hospital. Transfixed by the sight of the building's innards, Tenten does not see Lien pick her way free of the detritus that has fallen into the road, and misses the maid rounding the corner.

Lien yells.

The sound is one of sheer terror, and it sends Tenten scurrying for cover. Running as swiftly as her injured feet will allow up the debris-strewn boulevard, she ducks behind an enormous piece of concrete which may have once been a part of the hospital's roof and freezes in place, concealing herself just in time; heart pounding, the girl peers around the jagged edge of her makeshift blind and sees a group of ten soldiers escort Lien into the sunny intersection ahead. Light falls upon the men, illuminating their faces and the khaki-uniforms they wear, and Tenten realizes with horror that they are members of the Imperial Japanese Army, perhaps even the ones who had killed her family. The child had not believed it was possible, but Nanking has fallen.

China's capital is in the hands of the enemy.

Up ahead, a panicked Lien is making a desperate attempt to keep space between herself and the invaders, but they gradually surround her. The pretty young woman changes tactics then, pleading and holding out the sack of rice, offering it to them if they will only let her go. One man steps forward− and for a heartbeat Tenten actually believes they will take the maid up on her offer and spare her death− but then he dashes the bag out of her delicate hands. It falls upon the pavement and he jabs his bayonet into it, ripping a gash and spilling the wholesome grains upon the ground. Two other soldiers reach out and grab the girl's slender wrists, holding her struggling form in place; a fourth man steps forward with a dagger and raises it high−

_Lien, no!_

Tenten squeezes her eyes shut, not wanting to see the end.

There is no dying screech, only a chorus of eager Japanese, and Tenten forces herself to look again. Ma Lien is still alive, hanging between her captors and trembling. Her sensible _qipao_ has been slit from her throat all the way to her knees, and the blue material is hanging open; a vivid red line has been scored down her flawless skin and her body is now exposed to the rapacious gazes of the marauders. One man begins fumbling with the front of his pants. Tenten has only the vaguest notion of what is occurring− the act of sex had once been described to her by the sharecropper's children, who often slept next to their active parents due to the confines of space− but as she watches the soldier stroke his flesh until it stands erect the youngster feels sick.

Tenten forces back the nausea, and glances down; the knife is still clutched in her tiny hand. She wants to help Lien, but one unskilled child with a blade is no match for ten trained fighters with guns; even if she settled for providing a distraction, there is a great likelihood that she would be killed the instant she stepped from cover… Her thoughts are interrupted by the cheering and catcalls of the Japanese, and beneath these offensive sounds she can hear poor Lien choking back sobs. Tenten looks up to find the soldier holding the unwilling servant's legs apart and moving back and forth between them. A few more vicious thrusts and he steps back, spitting on the woman. Another man moves to take his place, and what this one does breaks Lien from her attempts at stoicism.

The maid begins to scream as she is sodomized, and the tortured wail is more that Tenten can bear; she shoves the knife through one of the frogs upon her chest, turning it into a makeshift holster, and runs.

* * *

Forgotten secondary roads and disgustingly dirty alleys, shortcuts through half-remembered parklands and breathers taken in the hidden spaces of partially destroyed buildings, always heading toward the north and west, all alone and continuously on the lookout for patrolling Japanese soldiers− this is how the petrified girl traverses the fallen capital for the second instance in as many days, and she makes excellent time; the sun has been down for perhaps an hour when she sprints onto the curiously abandoned Zhongshan North Road, and pauses to get her bearings in the dim light. Exhaustion chooses that moment to steal over her, buckling her gashed knees. Tenten just manages to catch herself on her hands, winds up crouched upon the pavement and panting hard in the frosty air.

Tenten is still five miles from the safety− assuming such a thing still exists− of Yijiang Gate. Determined to make it there, she tries to push herself back into a standing position; violent cramps seize her legs, pain shooting throughout her body, and her stomach lurches in response. The youngster dry heaves several times before vomiting the scant remains of her breakfast onto the street between her hands. This revolting puddle steams, a sickening scent wafting up to her nostrils, and Tenten uses the last vestiges of her strength to roll away from it. Lying prone upon her back in the middle of the road, mind coasting towards sleep as adrenaline fades, the girl glances down the boulevard and notices the headlights of an automobile slowly approaching.

Aware of the oncoming threat and yet too tired to respond to it, Tenten allows her eyes flicker closed−

"Get in the car."

The impervious command forces Tenten's fateful return to consciousness. Struggling to recall her whereabouts and wondering how much time has passed, she opens one groggy chocolate orb to behold the glacial visage of the young German woman; upon seeing the girl awake, the blonde nudges her in the ribs with the toe of one well-stitched boot and repeats her order. Tenten tries to sit up, but the movement is more than she can handle, and she falls back with a groan. The older female frowns, and the child worries that she will saunter away just as before, but then there is the slamming of a car door and the teenaged brother wanders into view. The two converse for a short time, their words gibberish, and then the young man bends and scoops Tenten into his big arms.

The next thing she knows, Tenten is being settled into the sedan's luxurious backseat, its soft leather cradling her tiny frame. The auburn-haired boy is seated beside the window, his worried emerald eyes trained upon her. Tenten gives him a weak smile, genuinely pleased to see him and hoping to be reassuring. The child returns the gesture with his own shy grin before lifting a thick woolen blanket from his lap and draping it across her shivering legs. His big sister slides into the vehicle on Tenten's other side, closing the door softly behind her; a moment later, the elder brother jumps into the front passenger seat, and their Eurasian chauffeur lets off the brake. The engine purrs, and they move steadily down the dark avenue.

The blonde glances sidelong at Tenten, and says in perfect Mandarin, "I see you didn't evacuate to a refugee camp. Did you find your family?"

Sandwiched between the two Westerners, with the covers tucked about her small body, Tenten feels like a caterpillar snuggled inside its cocoon; for the first time in days, the drowsy youth experiences the sensations of warmth and security− things that she had foolishly taken for granted back at the Zhu estate− thus she is not particularly bothered by the sets of male eyes peering curiously at her through the rearview mirror, or the interrogation from the young woman sitting beside her. The girl opens her mouth to answer, but the car suddenly slows to a crawl and begins weaving back and forth across the street. The driver says something in German, and his mistress reaches across Tenten to pull her peeping baby brother forcibly from the window.

The child leans obediently back against his seat, his blue eyes huge in the gloom. Horrified, he whispers, "There are bodies in the road!"

The little boy's astonished statement, and the innate knowledge that the dead lying in the lane are her own people, combines to bring everything rushing sharply back into focus for Tenten. As the expensive vehicle dodges the last of the forgotten corpses and straightens once more in its route, she looks up to find the woman watching her, clearly still anticipating a response. The girl swallows hard− the image of Lien being raped rising unbidden in her mind− and begins an explanation in halting tones, "I made it to their house. The maid said that my uncle became a soldier and my cousin was sent away. I was going to stay with her, but the Japanese… We didn't know they were in the city… They caught her, and they… I saw…"

_Blood and tears and tearing skin..._

"Don't say any more," The blonde counsels, indicating her listening brothers with a nod of her curly-haired head.

"I ran," Tenten confesses weakly, ashamed of her performance and unable to liberate herself from the grasp of self-loathing. Neither the chauffeur nor any of the Westerners attempts to comfort the girl− a nervousness has come into their fair faces, and it is almost as though they have not heard her at all. There follows a tense interval of silence, and then the child experiences the smooth sensation of the car braking; the automobile glides to a halt, and as soon as it stops the plush interior is illuminated by harsh spotlights. As Tenten blinks away the neon motes dancing across her vision, she hears muffled shouts in Japanese coming from outside, and the half-breed driver sardonically announces their arrival at Yijiang Gate.

"Everyone, stay calm and do exactly as I say," the young woman tells the vehicle's frightened occupants, pausing to look each of them in the face. When no one offers any objections, the blonde opens her door and climbs out into the night. The blast of icy air that floods into the cab causes Tenten to shiver, but she lays aside the blanket and exits to stand half-hidden behind the older girl. A moment later, the little boy climbs out next to her, solemnly fastening the brass buttons on his heavy overcoat. The elder brother and chauffeur move to the trunk and begin lifting out ancient leather suitcases, setting the heavy bags upon the pavement with quiet thumps. A Japanese officer moves to receive them, and it is all Tenten can do to keep from bolting out of sight.

The commandant stops beside the taillights and addresses the two men laboring there in his native tongue, but the teenaged brother shakes his brunette head to indicate a lack of understanding, and points briefly in the direction of his sister before lifting his camera from storage. The soldier frowns at this dismissal, but then he stomps over to the impatient young woman and asks what Tenten assumes is query about the reasoning for their presence; the response is a flurry of incomprehensible but furious-sounding German and a thick bundle of official documents being pulled from the inside pocket of a mink jacket. Face reddening, the man takes the papers and glances at them quickly, then turns and shouts for one of his loitering subordinates.

Despite the thick white hair sticking out from beneath his cap, the bespectacled youth who slinks up in response to the officer's summons cannot be more than twenty years old. He listens intently to his superior before picking up the passes and skimming over the information contained in them with the blackest eyes Tenten has ever seen; a heartbeat later, those dark eyes are fixed upon her, and the girl's knees begin to shake in a way that has nothing to do with the cold. The soldier inclines his head and speaks her in adequate Mandarin, "I'm Yakushi Kabuto, Private First-Class. My commander thinks there is something wrong with your identification papers, and we need to ask a few questions. Please tell your mistress this."

Tenten looks questioningly up at the blonde woman, wondering if she is supposed to play along and act the part of the lowly servant. Before the scared child can begin parroting the soldier's speech, however, the older female advances to stand between them. Shielded, Tenten can see nothing but the tension in the teenager's posture, and yet she hears no quaver in the girl's voice. "I speak this language much better than you do, Private, so you'd better listen up. Anything that needs to be said, you'll say it to me. Those documents are perfect; they were drawn up yesterday by my father, who is head of the International Committee for the Nanking Safety Zone. One of your generals signed off on them, allowing us safe passage. If we miss our boat, there will be hell to pay."

The teenage brother walks over to stand with them, loaded down with the family's luggage. Emboldened by the size of this newest addition to the group and the young woman's audacity, Tenten peeks around the blonde's hip to see a scowling Private Yakushi speaking to his superior; the soldier must translate everything exactly, because the officer seems to be on the verge of apoplexy, and the two hold a hasty, aggravated-sounding conversation before the young man turns back to them and translates with obviously feigned regret, "Nowhere do these papers say you are allowed to take cameras, so I'm afraid that we'll have to confiscate that one. Also, so sorry, but your maid does not appear to be thirty-five years of age that you claim."

The commandant reaches out to grab the camera hanging around the elder brother's neck, and the Westerner swats his hand away angrily. Watchful soldiers standing guard before the immense gate cock their guns threateningly, and the young woman snaps something to her brother in German. Petulantly, the teenager lifts the strap over his head, and reaches out to hand it to the officer; just before the man can grab it, the device falls to the pavement and shatters into a thousand pieces. The blonde turns back to the enlisted man and smiles maliciously. "Sorry, he's so clumsy sometimes. As for my maid, I had to hire a new one− the woman whose papers you're holding was found dead this morning, violated and pinned to the ground with a bamboo stake. Now, when do we leave?"

* * *

Yakushi Kabuto and a detachment of soldiers escort them through the gate− Tenten looks desperately for any sign of Qingnian's fate, but sees only a faded crimson spatter upon the tunnel wall− and across the burnt fields to the wharf beyond. Judging by the tiny lights reflected upon the shifting indigo waters, there a number of ships on the Yangtze River, perhaps the fleets the child had heard about. However, only one is docked; a ramshackle steamer flying a flag of black, red, and gold. Its gangplank has been lowered to meet the stone jetty, and the surly teenaged brother begins hauling the suitcases up the incline without a word. His sister snatches their travel papers back from the private and dismisses him and his men with an attitude nearly as frigid as the air.

The moment the Japanese are swallowed by the darkness, Tenten and the two Westerners let out sighs of relief, their breaths forming clouds that mingle in the cold atmosphere. For the girl, this relaxation is premature and lasts but a heartbeat; the little auburn-headed boy abruptly strips off his coat and holds it out to her, and it is then that Tenten realizes she will be left behind. She tries to protest, but the child forces the garment into her hands, and scurries up the footbridge to the rusting deck of the ship, where he stands peering at her over the railing. Grateful for this second gift, she bows low and he returns the gesture before disappearing from sight. Slipping into the wool wrapping− still warm with the heat of the boy's body− Tenten looks to the other woman.

The blonde lifts the last piece of luggage from the ground, and moves to stand at the foot of the gangway, clearly impatient to leave. Green eyes look down at Tenten. "I'm sorry that we can't take you with us, but it's a lot harder to get into Germany than it is to get out of China. At least you're outside the city now, and you've got a fighting chance."

Tenten nods, tucking her hands into the jacket's deep pockets and touching what must be a candy bar. The girl cannot bring herself to smile, but knowing that she has food and a weapon, her spirits lift just a bit. "I understand, and I really appreciate what you've done for me. I have one question, though; why did you do it? I thought you hated me..."

"Remember how you said you ran?"

"Yes?"

"Next time, you won't."

* * *

It is nearing midnight and the newly risen moon is hanging full in the inky sky. Shadowing the length of the walls and stumbling past waist-deep pits piled high with the dead, Tenten has wandered all the way around to the western side of Nanking. Here the Yangtze curls close to the aged bulwarks, embracing the capital city like a lover. The girl moves cautiously down to the water's edge and crouches upon the muddy bank, her body partially hidden by an old flat-bottomed boat. She peers across the flowing expanse but− even with the light from the celestial orb− chocolate eyes cannot spy the opposite shore, and she has no clear memory of the distance. Not that it matters; if she is going to escape, she must cross the river.

The wooden craft is much heavier than Tenten had expected, and although she pulls on the splintering edge with all her might it does not so much as budge. Finally, the child wades into the river, grimacing as the near freezing water soaks into her clothing and the soft bottom begins to pluck greedily at her borrowed shoes. She moves to the prow and reaches up to hang from it with both hands; after a time, her bouncing weight tips the boat toward the water, and blessed gravity does the rest. The resulting splash is loud in the silence of the night, and as Tenten pushes the vessel out into the current and climbs awkwardly aboard she finds herself praying that the sound has not attracted the attention of any Japanese sentries.

Clouds obscure the moon, and the surrounding world fades to black. Thankfully, there is no sound but the flowing of water. Lying in the bottom of the boat, shivering from cold and fright, Tenten perceives that the craft sits very low in the water, and a tiny bit is sloshing in between the timbers. Worried by this discovery, the girl straightens up and reaches over the side to try paddling the vessel. Suddenly, a sneeze tears itself from her chilled body, the sound piercing. Searchlights immediately flare into existence upon the rearward bank, soldiers shrieking warnings in Japanese, and then the bullets begin whizzing past. Tenten ducks low, and a few strike the rotting raft beneath the waterline; the moderate seeping becomes a flood, and the boat is sinking−

Tenten thrashes her arms and legs with a vengeance, calling desperately for aid; the adolescent has never learned to swim, and it takes only a few seconds for chilly Yangtze River to swallow the girl whole.

* * *

The first thing Tenten becomes aware of is the pain in her chest, a heavy and aching pressure that prevents her from doing anything more than drawing the most shallow of breaths. For a long time, she lies absolutely still and focuses on nothing more than pulling air into her rebellious lungs. Gradually, she becomes cognizant of other things; the crackling of a nearby fire, what she presumes is its heat upon her face, and a scratchy fabric upon her skin that is very different from the silk of her _qipao_. Forcing her eyes open, the girl looks down to find her body covered by an olive green blanket, which she quickly realizes she in naked beneath. Alarmed by this, she bolts upright, only to have the agony inside her crescendo. In seconds, Tenten is hunched over, hacking up water.

"I'm sorry. I thought I'd managed to squeeze it all out when I pulled you from the river. Don't worry about your clothes; they're drying by the fire."

Tenten cannot see the speaker− a male, judging by his deeper voice, with Mandarin not his native tongue− through the myriad tears gathered upon her eyelashes, but as she continues to cough a hand reaches over and lifts the fallen covers back around her skinny body, holding them in place to hide her nudity. The other appendage begins patting her firmly between the shoulder blades, aiding the child in her quest to bring up the liquid settling in her lungs. After what seems an eternity, she gasps and finds her airways unrestricted; the pain fades with the influx of oxygen, and the girl manages to blink the clinging droplets from her vision. Brushing a loose tangle of wet hair back from her face, Tenten twists her head to look at her savior.

The middle-aged man is obviously Japanese, which is startling enough, but it is certainly not the oddest thing about him; by the flickering glow of his small campfire, Tenten can see that his eyes are entirely white, not in the manner of an elderly person suffering from cataracts, but as though the orbs have been cut out and replaced by shimmering pearls. The effect is both hypnotizing and unnerving− something the man is entirely conscious of, considering the way his mouth quirks up at one corner− and the inquisitive youngster finally manages to wrench her chocolate gaze away, tightening the blanket around her thin shoulders as she does. The man inclines his dark head toward her, his unusually long hair falling over his shoulder. "My name is Hyuga Hizashi."

_To be continued..._


End file.
